Prelude to Knighthood
by ThePreciousHeart
Summary: Harry Hart, fresh out of university, accepts a mysterious "job offer" from an old family friend. Ian Meyer, tired of his current life's path, agrees to an internship under his uncle at his secretive place of business. Soon they are thrown into situations they never could have imagined. Let the Kingsman training begin... (A multi-chapter backstory fic. I aim to update every Friday.)
1. A Job Offer

_May 1982_

"Harry Hart."

At the sound of his name, Harry rose from his seat and made his way to the stage, accompanied by the sweet, joyful tune of applause. He shook hands with the chancellor, accepted his congratulations, and then- just like that- it was over. Harry walked off the stage with happiness and pride swelling in his heart. After four years, it was all over.

At last, he was an official graduate of Oxford University.

There had been no time onstage to look down at his peers in the audience. Everything had happened so _quickly_. Still, Harry tried to scan the crowd as he headed back to his seat, peering beyond the rapt faces of his graduating class to the swath of family and staff that filled out the hall. His gaze lingered on the overflowing audience, searching each person's face for a sign of recognition. It was very unlikely that they'd come- at least, Harry hadn't been previously informed of their arrival- but it certainly wasn't too late for surprises…

However, his quick search yielded no familiar faces, and Harry forced down a twinge of disappointment. He shouldn't have expected anything, really. It would have been a miracle if they'd bothered to show up, seeing as Harry had maintained little to no connection with the rest of his family for roughly two years now. They might not even know when the graduation ceremony was taking place.

 _Besides,_ Harry thought as he passed his fellow students on the way to his seat, _it doesn't matter anyway._ Not when his friends were applauding for him just as enthusiastically as his own family would. As if she had heard the thought, Susan swiveled her head around as soon as Harry had taken his seat and flashed him a bubbly, excited grin. Harry gave a small smile back, his eyes soft. With friends like his, he couldn't possibly need anyone else.

Though graduation rehearsal had been an exhausting ordeal, the rest of the actual ceremony flitted swiftly by. It seemed like no time at all before the last name had resounded across the room, the entire hall had exploded into a relieved, thunderous standing ovation, and the recessional had begun at last. Harry marched out of the hall with a light step, his head held high, ready to face the world as a new man. After a few drinks and dinner with his best mates, of course. Then onwards to whatever the future might bring.

The sun's glare blinded Harry as he left the hall, and he shaded his eyes with his hand, scoping out the throng of students. Susan and Martin's names came before Harry's in the alphabet, so they had surely been released already. And if Harry knew anything about them, he was sure they were also together. He wandered the edges of the crowd, scanning for any sign of his friends. Among the endless robe-clad figures, singling out just two people was hard. Perhaps they were hiding right smack in the middle of the crowd-

"Harry Hart!" a voice sounded behind him, immediately calling his attention. "Congratulations on your academic success."

There was something so incredibly _familiar_ about that voice. Like a scene from a half-remembered dream- _have I been here before? Do I know him?_

Captivated by the voice, Harry turned, and found himself staring at an older man.

His suit caught Harry's eye immediately. A handsome chocolate shade, well-fitting, likely bespoke, and _very_ tasteful. Next the flash of a signet ring called Harry's attention, though his brow furrowed to see it wrapped around the right pinky finger. _That isn't how a signet should be worn, not traditionally…_ Then his eyes traveled up to the man's face- and a small shiver went through him.

 _Could it be…?_

Though his face was obscured by tortoiseshell sunglasses, there was no mistaking that slim but imperial physique, the strong, pointed nose and creased cheeks. Harry blinked once, taking in the man's whole appearance. Then at last, he found his voice.

"Mr. Winthrop?"

"Just Basil now, if you please," the man said pleasantly, removing his sunglasses and stashing them in his breast pocket before holding his hand out to Harry. As soon as the glasses were off, Harry felt another shiver run through him, this one a bit stronger than the last. Yes, he had the right man. He knew those cornflower-blue eyes well.

Apparently, Harry's graduation had invited an unexpected figure from his past.

"Now that we're both adults, it hardly seems fair to get along on last-name basis," Mr. Winthrop- no, _Basil-_ smoothly continued. "Unless of course you prefer it as such."

"It's fine," Harry murmured, finally shaking Basil's proffered hand. "You've _always_ called me Harry." _And "dear boy." And "your offspring." And…_ Dammit, just what _was_ Basil doing here?

"So I have," Basil replied, the relaxed smile never leaving his face. "In that case, allow me to amend my statement. Congratulations on your success, _Harry_. I always knew you would turn out well."

 _Mother and Father wouldn't agree with you..._ Harry shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the thought **.** There was so much to say, so much to ask, and all of it was clamoring to be released from his tongue. Finally, Harry chose to unleash the most important question. "If I might ask, what's brought you here?"

"Business or pleasure, you mean?" Basil said evenly, meeting Harry's gaze with an unwavering blue stare. "Actually, it's neither- nothing more than mere curiosity. I haven't kept up with the Harts as much as I should lately, and I thought I would come by to see what you've made of yourself."

Harry stiffened slightly at Basil's words, remembering quite clearly what the rest of the Harts had thought of what he'd made of himself. The empty seats and unfamiliar faces in the audience rendered their point painfully obvious.

In a low voice, he questioned, "Have they sent you on their behalf?"

"Not at all," Basil said right away. "I came on my own accord. To tell the truth, I was greatly hoping you'd be able to spare some time after the ceremony. Just to catch up, like old friends."

Such a statement should have eased Harry's mind, but instead he grew mildly suspicious. _Harry_ of all the Harts was unlikely to be considered "an old friend." Basil had only ever known him as a _child._ Harry couldn't shake the thought that his parents had sent Basil, not to celebrate and congratulate in their place, but to keep an eye on him now that he'd finished school. Surely they were anxious to know what Harry was planning on doing with his life- and Harry wasn't exactly keen on letting them find out.

 _My life is my own._ And it had been such for a little over two years. Nothing was going to change that, not even Basil Winthrop's inexplicable appearance.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Have you caught up with my parents as well?"

Basil nodded. "Always a pleasure to see them."

"Then I assume they were the ones to inform you of my graduation ceremony," Harry stated, trying to figure out exactly what Basil was playing at.

He half-expected- and even half-hoped- that Basil would confirm this assumption, but Basil shook his head. "No, all they mentioned was that you had gone off to Oxford a few years back. I had to do the rest of the work myself. Such a shame they… chose not to attend."

A small lick of flame sizzled through Harry's chest, and he had to clench his fists briefly to keep himself in check. _Of course they did. Of COURSE they did…_

"Might I ask w-" he began, but a raised hand from Basil silenced him. There was no smile on his face, but he looked… content. Pleased, even. His blue eyes were warm and friendly as he gazed down at Harry.

"To be honest, Harry, I came to this ceremony for more than one reason. I have a job offer that you might fancy taking up. There's a wealth of opportunities for a young graduate like you, and I wanted to be the first to present you with one."

Harry stared back at Basil, confusion flickering through his mind. This wasn't what he had expected to hear. Of all the people to offer him a job… _Basil Winthrop?_

"You're asking if I want to join you at Kingsman?" he said, trying to make sure he understood the prospect.

"Not exactly," Basil replied evenly. "You _will_ be working at Kingsman, but you won't be in the shop."

"An administrative position, then?" Harry shook his head in what he hoped was a polite refusal. "I'm sorry, M- Basil, I… I'd prefer for you to contact me later in regards to your offer. I greatly appreciate your thinking of me, but I'm not ready to make a sudden decision."

"I understand," Basil said mildly, idly tapping his fingers against the walking stick clutched in his right hand. "You don't want to work in a field outside your major. You want to apply the knowledge from your studies in the _real_ world."

"No," Harry blurted, bristling at once in defense. _How can he simply assume_ _—_ _?_ "I'm declining your offer because I'd rather make a _difference_ in the 'real world,' instead of being stuck behind a desk all day."

He decided not to mention that he would also rather not spend the rest of his days helping clothe the pampered rich in their increasingly luxurious splendor. Though Harry had little desire to partake in the snobbery that had contributed in driving him from his family, he didn't want to openly disrespect Basil's line of work. For as long as he'd known Basil, the man had been associated with Kingsman, and it was clear that he wouldn't trade his job for anything in the world.

Basil did not seem particularly fazed by Harry's outburst. He simply sighed through his nose and cocked his head, his gaze piercing straight through Harry. "Harry, I assure you that the position I'm offering has nothing to do with being stuck behind a desk. Far from it. That's not even getting into all the benefits that come with the job. If you'll hear me out, I'd be delighted to discuss the matter further."

Harry realized then that Basil had no intention of dropping the subject. _He's persistent, I'll give him that._ Mentally he relented- he might as well learn more about the offer before thoroughly declining it. Surely it wouldn't take long…

"If you'll excuse me," Harry said, gesturing to the crowd that was beginning to thin out around them. "Once my business here is done, I'll be happy to go over the matter. But right now, I should be looking for someone."

"Don't bother," Basil replied immediately, straightening his walking stick and leaning on it. "This offer is not something to be discussed in the open. Come along with me, and I'll show you what I mean." His free hand reached out to grasp Harry's shoulder, and Harry tried not to flinch at the touch.

"You can tell your friends," intoned Basil, "that Kingsman has called for you."

* * *

The train swayed along the tracks, and Harry swayed with it, clutching tightly to the back of Basil's seat. If he had known that Basil intended on taking him to the shop in London, he wouldn't have agreed so readily to hear his offer. With every mile, his mind filled with more questions. Just _what_ was so important about Basil's offer that it had to be explained in the shop, in private? And why _Harry_ of all people, whose legal studies were as far removed from tailoring as possible?

At every stop on the train's route, the inevitable congratulations came from boarding passengers who caught sight of Harry's graduation robes. He thanked them politely, but his mind was performing acrobatics, trying to guess Basil's hidden intentions. There was no point in asking Basil, who was busy staring rapturously up at the train's ceiling as if utterly fascinated by it. He hadn't said a word to Harry since they got on board, except to thank him when Harry let him have the last empty seat in the carriage.

By the time the train pulled up at its final stop at London Paddington Station, the confusion was beginning to fade from Harry's mind- there was no use in letting his imagination run rampant until they got to the tailor shop, where Basil claimed that all would be revealed. But he still wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or excited about this "job offer." Basil lurched to his feet and wove his way through the throng of departing passengers, briefly grabbing Harry's arm to guide him in the right direction. Harry followed along, idly wondering how his friends' graduation dinner was going, and whether they were missing him. He hadn't gotten to congratulate a single one of them before Basil whisked him away.

Even fewer words were spoken as they clambered into a conveniently waiting black cab. As he settled into the leather seats, Harry began to mull over the exact nature of Basil's offer. The fact that he had gone to such lengths to find Harry specifically, and then to carefully bring him all the way to London, hinted at intentions far beyond asking him to work at the shop. _There HAS to be more to this job than he's letting on..._ But if that was true, then Basil was certainly keeping quiet about it. The older man slipped his glasses on as the taxi pulled away from the curb and leaned back, resting his head against the seat.

Reluctant to disturb Basil, Harry instead took to gazing out the window. Most of the buildings were unmarked, save for the street signs at each corner, but every now and then a brand name leaped out at him- newer commodities engulfing aged architecture. The glow emanating from each window lit up the city as the overcast afternoon slipped gradually into dusky evening. It was a sight Harry was all too familiar with, thanks to his many excursions to London throughout his life- not in the least the occasional trips his family had taken him on to visit people such as Basil. _Or rather Mr. Winthrop, back then._ If Harry closed his eyes, just for a few seconds, he could remember the fine sitting room where Basil and his parents had talked over their wine glasses, while he and his siblings played on the carpet nearby, petting Basil's cocker spaniel and admiring his intriguing assortment of curios.

Presently the cab came to a halt on Savile Row. Harry didn't need to glance at the glittering gold letters in the window to know where he was- Kingsman, Tailors. He offered a hand to help Basil out of the cab, but Basil waved him off and made it out with no trouble at all. "Come on, Harry," he said as he easily bounded up the steps to the entrance. "We'll talk inside the shop."

Harry dipped his head and followed along, crossing the threshold into the darkened room. With the flip of a few switches, the lamps were soon ablaze- not noticeable enough to be seen from the street, but shedding enough light so that the shop interiors were visible. Without looking back at Harry, Basil strode towards the fitting rooms, so full of energy that he no longer leaned on his walking stick. "This job offer deals with a very important position," he said, while Harry slowly trailed behind, taking in the sights and smells of the shop. "So naturally, before you accept anything it's necessary for you to understand what you're getting into." With a flourish, Basil threw open the door to one of the fitting rooms and finally glanced back at Harry with a proud grin. "Follow me. There's something I've got to show you."

Concern and excitement again warred for dominance within Harry. He hesitated for a second- _had Basil ALWAYS been this odd?_ Should he be trusted?

But he had made it this far— he might as well find out what Basil was on about. Harry followed him into the fitting room and watched impatiently as Basil went to the coat rack. Nothing struck him as particularly out of the ordinary.

"What-"

"Shh," was all Basil said, not looking at Harry, still bearing his wide grin. He pushed down on one of the coat hooks- and a section of the wall swung inwards.

In itself, the secret compartment was a shock. Harry found himself staring, utterly perplexed. Once Basil had beckoned him in, though, the contents of the secret compartment left him even more bewildered **.**

Arranged neatly in racks along the walls were what appeared to Harry to be the shop's extra stock of accessories. He spied all manner of walking sticks just like Basil's, as well as signet rings, watches, pens, glasses frames, and of course, endless shoes- oxfords, brogues, slippers… But as Harry's gaze moved along the walls, incongruous items leapt out at him. Namely, firearms and bullets alongside them.

Curious, he drew closer to the illuminated racks, staring at the glistening metal. Rifles, shotguns, pistols- every gun Harry could imagine was there, waiting for a worthy owner to use them. Harry stood before the weapons, spellbound, his imagination sparking and running wild. He'd guessed correctly- this was _definitely_ no ordinary job offer. Whatever it _really_ was probably didn't involve tailoring at all.

"Admiring the view?" Basil's voice rang out. Harry turned on his heel to see Basil hanging back by the entrance, casually clutching his walking stick in both hands. His expression was cool, but Harry could almost feel an air of self-satisfaction radiating from him.

Harry swallowed and asked the first question that came to mind, the only one that made sense. "Is your shop affiliated with the military in some way?"

Basil shook his head and strode forward, discarding his walking stick along the way. Without it, his step grew stronger and surer, belying the fragility of his appearance. He also straightened up, squaring his shoulders and holding his chin high.

"We're not associated with any government, though we are based in London. We have countless units operating all over the globe." Basil came to a stop in front of Harry and struck a warm, knowledgeable smile. "Kingsman is more wide-reaching than you think, Harry."

Harry instantly voiced the logical question:

"What _is_ Kingsman?"

Instead of responding right away, Basil folded his hands behind his back and traveled over to one of the racks, his soft blue eyes reflecting the golden sheen of the signet rings.

"Kingsman is what you might call a secret service. An intelligence agency tied to no country and no governmental regime. We devote our lives to protecting individuals from harm and ensuring peace worldwide. If you want to make a difference in the world as you claim you do, accepting our job offer might be a good place to start."

Basil turned to meet Harry's level gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching in a restrained smile.

"One of our agents has recently passed. Got himself blown to bits on a mission, the poor fellow. That leaves a vacancy at our table, and based on my knowledge of your background and your academic studies, I think you'd make a splendid addition. So tell me, Harry my boy- are you going to turn your back on this opportunity, or are you going to help change the world?"

At first Harry found it impossible to reply. Slowly, the pieces fell into place. _This explains so much._ Why his childhood trips to Basil's home were so infrequent, and why Basil was called away from London so often. How Basil had amassed such an impressive collection of international oddities. And it certainly explained why Basil had taken Harry to the London shop instead of detailing his job offer right there in Oxford.

 _If he'd merely TOLD me about this, I would have never believed him._

Then Basil's actual words caught up to Harry, and his gaze broke from Basil, drifting over to the pristine arsenal surrounding him. _A secret service… devoted to ensuring peace worldwide._ Not by sending men to war, not by military combat, but in smaller ways. Ways that were not beyond Harry's capabilities or, presumably, his morals. Little steps that could never result in a greater incendiary reaction. All done undercover.

It sounded so _fantastical_. Just like the over-the-top spy films Harry had loved when he was younger. Never in his life would he have believed they'd come true.

He could almost see them now, as if a film projector had flickered to life in his head. The familiar figures of Bond and Palmer, engaged in shootouts, searching for information, and generally observing the modus operandi- _save the world._ The inevitable thought surfaced:

 _If I accept this offer, I could become one of them._

When faced with the prospect, how could Harry possibly say no?

Slowly Harry returned his gaze to Basil's expectant face. He smiled deeply.

"Changing the world… now there's a prospect that suits me."

Basil instantly came alight, his whole body perking up as if adrenaline had shot through his system.

"Excellent. You've made the right choice." His smile sparked with chain lightning.

"If you'll come with me back into the shop, I believe we have an appointment with Fitting Room One."


	2. Internship

Plenty of Londoners waxed poetic about their city. They claimed to enjoy its large population, the history that permeated its walls and the dark waters of the Thames.

To Ian Meyer, their opinion was nothing short of absolute lunacy.

Often he wondered _why_ he kept coming back.Every weekend was the same- depart Croydon on a train bound for Central London, delve into the jostling crowds filling the tube within the dark depths of Victoria Underground Station, exit at Sloane Square, and then trudge the rest of the way to his uncle Noel's to stay the night. Of course, if Noel hadn't provided a place to stay, Ian felt he'd be happy never to return. He figured he could learn to love the city over time, but for now all that drew him back were Noel's invitations. That, and the chance to get away from his father's shop for a while. Working from dawn to dusk every weekday was tiring, even when there were few customers about.

That wasn't to say that visiting Noel involved less work. In fact, in a way it consisted of _more._ Standing behind a cash register and unpacking products from their boxes required significantly less brain activity than the engineering projects on which Noel always requested his help. Ian had lost track of the afternoons and nights they'd spent slaving away over computer hardware. However, he found the work at Noel's to be far more enjoyable — it engaged his mind at least. Many a time he'd even considered asking Noel for a job, if he only knew what exactly Noel _did._ Though it was clearly something to do with technology, Noel had never named his specific occupation in conversation, with Ian or any other member of the family.

The oft-thought verdict rose in Ian's mind as he made his way down Cliveden Place- _Whatever Noel does, it certainly pays well enough._ He tried to suppress the sense of discomfort that followed- surely Noel had his reasons for staying in such an affluent neighborhood, while his sister's family made their home in a less-than-desirable area. He was under no obligation to help them out, and would likely be refused if he were to offer.

 _It still doesn't feel right, though…_

 _No._ Ian quickly shook the thoughts away. There were more important matters to focus on- such as his route. Cross the street onto Eaton Terrace, take a right to reach the mews, and make sure to avoid eye contact with anyone along the way. When Noel's building came into view, Ian breathed a small sigh of relief and quickened his pace. He stepped up to the front door and gave it a knock.

Presently the door swung inward, revealing Noel- a quiet, pale man even taller and thinner than Ian, with thick, dark brown hair swept carefully behind his ears. Immediately Ian spied something off about Noel's appearance- his ever-present wire glasses were mysteriously missing.

"Ian, come in," Noel said mildly, a polite smile touching his face. Obligingly, Ian did so, hanging his jacket up on the rack by the door.

"How was the trip?" Noel asked, as he always did, but this time Ian detected… absence in his voice. He didn't seem entirely focused on the query, slipping into the kitchen without so much as a glance at Ian. Ian pondered this behavior for a second before replying.

"A drag, as usual. Talking loudly on the train should honestly be against the law. There's no reason why a person sitting all the way at the front of the carriage should be able to hear conversation from the very back. Especially when it's all about the _shocking_ night you had, and where you went with what person." Ian settled onto the sofa and stretched, unlocking his frozen muscles. " _Please_ spare an innocent bystanderthe details."

Noel popped his head out from the kitchen. "And you didn't murder them? Your self-control astonishes me."

"There were a couple of other people in the carriage," Ian replied. "I couldn't have gotten away with it." He lifted his head and watched as Noel briefly disappeared, then reappeared carrying a tray with two steaming mugs on it. He placed the tray on the table, and Ian reluctantly heaved himself up from his seat and went to sit across from Noel.

"I'm surprised you made it to your seat without your glasses," Ian joked, though he was truly curious as to what Noel was doing without them. "Did you break the lenses or something?" He picked up one of the warm mugs, breathing in the calming scent of herbal tea.

Noel grumbled wordlessly as he reached for his mug. "I may have. They don't appear to be functioning properly." He sipped his tea and carefully set the mug down. "If you wouldn't mind, Ian, I'd greatly appreciate your taking a look at them."

Ian concealed his confused frown with his mug. _Functioning properly…_ What an odd way to describe _glasses._ How could Noel not know if he had broken them or not? Cupping the mug in his hands, Ian sipped from it to try and quell the feeling that something felt out of place. What could Noel possibly mean by _functioning?_ __The warm liquid slipped down his throat, loosening his nerves- but the apprehension didn't leave him.

"I _wouldn't_ mind," Ian answered in a neutral tone, looking down at his tea instead of over at Noel. "As long as you can find them first."

"Hey now," Noel said, rising from the table. "My vision isn't as bad as yours, remember." He walked out of the room, presumably on his way to find his glasses, and Ian leaned back in his chair. In Noel's absence, the air was… clearer, somehow. Less charged. Even Noel's stance as he left the main room indicated that a wave of relief had washed over him. Something _was_ different today.

 _Or maybe I'm overthinking…_

Noel returned with his glasses in hand. Immediately he passed them over to Ian, who could no longer disguise his frown as he took them. "I don't see anything wrong with the lenses. What's the problem?"

"Try putting them on," Noel responded as he sat down. Ian waited, peering curiously at the spotless lenses and the wire frame, but when no more suggestions seemed forthcoming from Noel, he pulled his glasses off and slipped Noel's on.

Instantly Ian's vision changed, but not just in the warped way associated with wearing glasses with a different prescription. Letters formed before his eyes, blinking steadily in time- LIVE TRANSMISSION.

Ian ripped the glasses from his face, leaving the world a blur. He put his own glasses back on and stared at Noel, just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The words had vanished. Ian lifted the glasses to his face and gave their lenses a careful, thorough inspection. _There's nothing written on the lenses… They're perfectly clean…_ Yet he couldn't find anything to indicate they had the recording technology their letters implied.

 _Only one way to find out._ Once more Ian switched his regular glasses for Noel's, and once more the letters came flashing at the bottom of the lenses.

LIVE TRANSMISSION…

LIVE TRANSMISSION…

Across the table, Noel's calm expression did not change, but he leaned forward in his seat, watching Ian expectantly. In return, Ian avoided his gaze, slightly uncomfortable.

 _Is this- is this some kind of test?_ The strange thought crept into his mind and made itself a home there. Noel had given the glasses to Ian for a reason- he had to be aware of the words that Ian would see. And he certainly seemed to be waiting for a reaction. All Ian had to do was figure out what Noel wanted from him.

If these glasses were transmitting footage, there had to be a way to turn that function off. Ian reached up and felt along the side of the frame, searching for any kind of button or switch. His fingers soon came across a raised bump, miniscule and undetectable by sight. Ian pressed it, and jerked as his vision changed. His view of the wall behind Noel had suddenly leapt closer, as if he had zoomed in on a filmed image.

"Good, you've discovered the zoom function," Noel said abruptly. He reached out, and Ian leaned over so that Noel could take the glasses off his face. "Bit useless when you're staring at a wall, but excellent for a night at the opera… or bird-watching, if you're so inclined." Deftly he pressed the same button and then another button, presumably zooming out and switching off the transmission function, while Ian put his own glasses back on and tried to sort out what the hell had just happened.

It suddenly seemed like a very good time for tea, and so Ian grabbed his mug and took a long, steadying sip. "…Where did you get this technology?" he asked at last.

Noel took his time studying the glasses, then put them on before replying gravely. "I developed it."

A pause hung palpably in the air between them, and then Noel looked up at Ian, the dead-seriousness in his eyes confirming the truth of his words. "I know you've always wondered about my job."

Ian nodded without even registering the movement. "Not even Mum knows…"

"There's a good reason for that," Noel said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead before continuing. "Ian, you may know me as your recluse uncle Noel who likes to tinker with computers. That's really only half of who I truly am. At work, I'm known as Merlin. I supervise field agents and provide them with necessary tech for their missions."

 _Field agents? Missions?_ Ian found it hard to comprehend the words coming out of Noel's mouth. He couldn't be saying…

"You're… are you part of some… spy network?"

"An intelligence agency," Noel corrected. He smoothly lifted his mug to his lips and sipped. "Unconnected to any government. We're called Kingsman. We own and operate from a shop on Savile Row."

"You're _joking,"_ Ian breathed. But he knew in his heart- and from the shake of Noel's head- that he wasn't. The evidence was sitting on the bridge of Noel's nose, clear as day.

All Ian could think was to ask, "Why did you wait this long to tell me about it? _Why-"_

"Why did I tell you at all?" Noel finished for Ian. He leaned back into his chair and gazed upwards, his hands clasped together on the table. "I was getting to that. Ever since you've started visiting me, I've planned to offer you an internship under me at Kingsman. Everything I've taught you has proven that you are capable of someday succeeding me. You have natural talent, Ian, and I believe that working at Kingsman would put that talent to good use."

"So-" Ian tried to say, but Noel shook his head to indicate that he wasn't finished, leaving Ian with a single unspoken question. _So did you invite me over because you cared for me, or just because you wanted me to work for you?_

"Last night we lost an agent in the field," said Noel. "Tonight, as per tradition, every remaining field agent will bring in their candidate for our recruitment process. If you're interested in joining Kingsman, I'd like for you to come with me to oversee the training program. And if you're comfortable with the idea, I'd particularly like for you to join the candidates during training, so you can gain the physical skills necessary should you ever be called upon for a field assignment.

"However, Ian, if you'd prefer not to be involved with Kingsman in any way, that's perfectly fine with me.I'm not going to force you into anything that you're not ready for. I want you to choose the path that benefits _you._ " Noel stopped to take another long sip of tea, while Ian's head whirled, processing all that Noel had said.

"What happens if I don't accept?" he asked cautiously. Surely if Noel hadn't informed his own sister about Kingsman, he wouldn't trust his nephew either. There had to be some security measures in place to preserve the agency's secrecy.

"Ideally, nothing," Noel replied with his usual calm. "I know you well, Ian. I know that you would never breathe a word about Kingsman to anybody. This conversation won't leave this room. I _would_ have to find another suitable candidate, but I don't plan on retiring immediately, so I've got plenty of time."

 _Another suitable candidate…_ Again Ian felt a twinge at the thought that he was expendable to Noel. But that thought soon passed, to be replaced with a new wonder- was joining a secret organization like this Kingsman really _worth_ it? Considering how Noel lived, Ian wasn't sure if he wanted to push away his friends and family. Besides, to be closer to headquarters, he'd have to move to London, and hadn't he just been thinking this morning about how absurd that would be?

And yet, while Ian considered these plausible explanations for why he couldn't possibly accept Noel's offer, an image of Croydon formed in his head. A dull, static town where nothing had ever changed, from the moment his family had first moved there to the present day.

What was Ian _doing_ with his life out there?

When Ian tried to conjure up images of his life, they came to him in the form of mental snapshots, revolving around two locales- school, and home. _School,_ the more preferable option, consisted of attentively taking notes, hanging on every professor's word. School was drifting through the crowd of mingling students to reach his next class. School was a refuge, the only thing that genuinely ensured Ian's future.

However, with the onset of summer break, Ian's life was currently _home._ Home was the shop, where he stayed on his feet all day assisting customers and trying for whatever reason to merit his father's approval. Home was sitting at the kitchen table, helping his sister make it through the summer assignments that she desperately wanted to put off.

And sometimes, when Ian let it, _home_ was the bar that he snuck out to in order to drink and to shag the man who refused to call himself Ian's boyfriend. But those nights did not come often enough.

 _All things considered,_ a voice whispered in Ian's head as he came to the unhappy realization, _I don't have much of a life._ Certainly not the type of life Ian had envisioned himself leading at this age.

In this case, distancing himself from his family was a much better alternative to spending the rest of his life with them, unable to escape unless they moved a second time. Besides, if Ian accepted, he'd be working alongside Noel. He'd always been a more promising coworker than his father, at any rate...

But before Ian could say a word, he _had_ to voice the nagging doubt that lingered in his head.

"Noel…"

Noel said nothing, but he cocked his head to indicate that he was listening. Ian took a deep breath, realizing how silly and awkward the question was. To voice it was embarrassing- but Ian knew that if he didn't, the doubt would always remain with him.

"You… you didn't just invite me over because you wanted this all along, did you?"

Noel's rapt response nearly startled Ian with its force. " _Christ_ , Ian." He half-laughed, shaking his head. "Where do you _get_ thoughts like that? Of course that wasn't why I invited you over. You're my nephew, Ian- I want to see you every chance I get. You're _family._ Family is not something that's valued very highly at Kingsman, not in terms of blood relations. The fact that you _exist_ makes me want to see you."

A weight lifted off Ian's shoulders the more Noel spoke, until it had vanished entirely. Ian straightened up in his chair and gave a small smile to Noel, wrapping his hand around his mug.

"Noel, it would be an honor to intern with you."

And thus his fate was sealed.


	3. Training Begins

"Kingsman was founded by men who had lost their heirs in the First World War," Basil declared, his head tilted upwards as the ceiling shrank above them. "They created an organization in order to ensure that such destruction would never happen again." He cracked a grin with the side of his mouth- "Obviously they didn't fulfill that promise entirely, considering what happened twenty-one years later… But for every conflict that has occurred after Kingsman's founding, there've been innumerable others that our involvement prevented."

Most of Harry was focused intently on Basil's words, but the rest of him had been internally gawking ever since Basil had pressed his hand against the mirror in Fitting Room One to activate a glowing numberpad hidden within the glass and keyed in a password, and the floor began to descend. A strange thrill settled in every bone, strong enough to raise goosebumps on Harry's flesh. The deeper the elevator went, the higher his excitement mounted.

"Has tailoring always been their business?" he asked quietly, carefully restraining himself from openly displaying his awe. Not in front of Basil, anyway, who was surely used to the elevator.

"Yes," Basil said. "The shop was established before the organization. Our founders were an unassuming group- which of course makes for a good front."

Harry smiled faintly. "I figured with that lovely bespoke of yours, _someone_ had to be in the business for real."

"It's definitely a perk of the job," Basil replied, almost giddily. "One that you'll no doubt take advantage of, if you end up joining us."

 _IF you end up joining us?_ Harry tore his gaze away from the vanishing ceiling and turned to Basil, frowning slightly. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I thought that accepting your offer ensures that I'll… join you. I've made my choice." Or was that choice intended to be _tested?_ Had Basil duped him? Did Harry now have to jump through hoops to prove his mettle?

 _"Oh."_ Basil's focus immediately shifted to Harry. "Forgive _me._ I've neglected to explain. You're one of several who have agreed to be in the running for a field position. If you complete Kingsman's training program, you will _then_ earn a place in the organization."

Though Harry was still honored to have been asked, his enthusiasm began to dwindle. _Competing_ sounded far less enticing than simply joining. He gave a short laugh, suddenly wondering what sort of people his competitors would be. "That sounds a bit _trickier_ than I expected, Basil."

Basil waved off Harry's concern with encouragement. "There's no need to worry. Just have _faith_ in yourself, my boy. _I_ have faith in you. Don't let yourself be crushed by self-doubt."

Harry straightened up at Basil's words. Truly, self-doubt was ill-becoming. He couldn't allow himself to give in to that temptation. If Basil believed in him, surely he could do it.

 _Besides, sometimes challenges have their benefits…_

When the elevator came to a stop, Basil was the first to exit, making for a gap in the wall ahead. Harry emerged after him, resuming his internal gawking. He blinked at the white walls of his new surroundings. At first glance, the cramped space almost resembled an underground train platform… and the silver capsule that took up that space brought to mind a futuristic, high-speed shuttle.

As if to confirm Harry's musing, the capsule's door rolled open automatically. Basil stepped forward at once, drawing Harry along with a backwards motion of the hand. "Come along, Harry. Our ride's here."

"Where is it taking us tonight?" Harry asked as he hurried to join Basil inside the shuttle. Basil clasped his hands together against the handle of his walking stick, smiling enigmatically.

"Hertfordshire- home of Kingsman headquarters."

The shuttle shot off at light speed, fueling Harry's exhilaration. Despite the distance between Hertfordshire and London, the journey seemed to last no more than five minutes. After the shuttle rattled to a stop, Basil was the first to get off, leaving Harry behind to fully take in their new location. To his left were storage cabinets, their metal doors padlocked shut. To his right, a tidy workstation complete with a computer monitor, and a door that Basil was approaching. However, Harry was reluctant to follow, drawn by what lay beyond the enormous window before him. Forgetting Basil for a moment, he walked forward, meeting the cool glass with the palms of his hands.

The view from the window caused Harry's stoicism to crumble. He couldn't resist openly drinking in the sight of an underground airplane hangar. The planes sat pretty in their designated areas, in a room that stretched on for what felt like miles. Harry only realized how close he had gotten to the window when his breath obscured the glass. A second later, the sound of his name drew him out of the stupor.

"Harry!" Behind him, Basil stood in an open doorway, looking vaguely anxious. "I'm sorry, but we don't have time for dawdling. We've got to go check you in."

Guiltily Harry tore himself away from the window, though it took a moment for his smile of wonderment to dissolve. "I'm sorry."

Basil nodded towards a corridor, and then turned on his heel, disappearing around the corner. Harry followed suit, hurrying to fall into step behind him.

* * *

"I just phoned to have a cab sent 'round. It will take us to the shop, and then we'll catch a ride to HQ. I want you to get settled in before the agents start arriving."

Those were the only words spoken to convince Ian to go with Noel to Kingsman HQ. Not that he needed _much_ convincing. After what Noel had told him, Ian found himself itching to see the place. Before leaving, Noel assured Ian that his personal items would be collected from home, and his parents presented with a plausible explanation for his months-long absence.

"Is there anything that you need to do before we go?" Noel asked finally. Ian surveyed the main room, taking in the flat's modest furnishings until he was sure the sight was imprinted in his mind.

"I think I'm good."

Noel smiled. "Good." They headed out into the street to catch the black cab that had just pulled up outside the front door.

As Ian tugged the cab door shut, he couldn't help but take one long, last look at Noel's home before it slid out of view. He could only guess at what Noel had in store for him, but at least he wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

"Here's my workstation," Noel said unceremoniously as soon he and Ian stepped out of the shuttle. Flustered from the stomach-quaking ride, it took Ian a moment to register what Noel had said. Then his eyes widened at his surroundings, realization sinking in. "At the _entrance?_ Jesus, Noel, how do you get any bloody work done?"

"I manage," Noel said dryly. He wandered over to a nearby desk, completely ignoring the vast window ahead that Ian was openly staring at. "I've got an office upstairs to fool around with tech. Between that and this workstation, I really can't complain about disruptions." A fond, relaxed look came into Noel's eye as he gazed at the screen before him. "Kingsman treats me well, all things considered. They know when to give me space."

"Glad to hear it," Ian murmured. Slowly his transfixion with the hangar faded. He went to Noel's side, observing the provided workstation. _Monitor, check. Keyboard, check. Drawers for filing, check. Clipboard, pencils and paper-_

"Ian." The sound of his name broke Ian's mental organization. He looked over, meeting Noel's green gaze.

"While we're at headquarters, you're going to have to refer to me as Merlin instead of my given name," Noel explained. "It's against protocol for agents to call each other by name- at least within earshot of a superior."

 _Merlin._ The famed wizard of Arthurian origin sprang to Ian's mind, and he felt like chuckling. _An apt title for one so skilled._ He nodded, and couldn't resist asking, "Have the agents got… themed codenames?"

"If you're asking if they're all in the same vein as mine, they are indeed," Noel replied. "They like to think of themselves as knights." A dubious note wavered in his voice, suggesting that he didn't share the opinion. "You'll meet them all later tonight when they check their candidates into the barracks. For now, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping over the next few months. Maybe give you the grand tour if you're up for it." He flashed his rare smile, and Ian offered one in return.

"Right. Lead the way, Merlin."

The room that Noel had set aside for Ian was more luxurious than any other he had spent the night in. The large, inviting bed was dressed in opulent bedcovers, and several landscape paintings adorned the walls. There was even a small bookshelf for Ian to peruse. However, his attention was entirely taken up with the view from the windows. The countryside sprawled out before him in an endless green swath, tall trees dotting the grass and reaching for the wide-open sky. The sight was as far from urban London as Ian could imagine. From behind him, he heard Noel mention something about needing to contact a certain Arthur - the head of Kingsman, he assumed- before the door clicked shut, leaving Ian to lose himself in the view of the estate. As he stared out at the lawn, a yearning feeling stirred in him. He hadn't seen so much green in a very long time. Not since the trips to the lush highlands that his family had taken when he was a child, before they had left Scotland...

Presently Noel entered the room again and beckoned Ian to the door. "We've got an hour before the agents are scheduled to arrive. Just enough time to get you acquainted with headquarters."

As it turned out, Noel hadn't been kidding when he offered the _grand_ tour. Even without stopping in every room, the vastness of the mansion overwhelmed Ian. Most of the floors pertinent to running Kingsman were concealed underground. The deepest level was the airplane hangar, and above that the barracks and fitness rooms, as well as Noel's workstation. Directly above it was an extensive medical wing. Every other floor was segmented into offices for the administrative staff, while the mansion's regular three floors were left untouched- "for appearance's sake," Noel explained. It was there on the second floor that Ian was staying.

"The bedrooms are meant for the agents," Noel explained, "if they get back from a mission at odd hours and aren't keen on traveling at night, or if they have to catch a flight for a mission early in the morning. They're also for absolute madmen like me who'd rather work into the night than go home."

Once the tour had finished, Ian realized that a certain room had been conspicuously left out. He came to this conclusion in no time, because it was the only room that he knew for sure existed.

As Noel checked his watch, Ian raised his voice. "I think you've forgotten something, Merlin."

Noel raised his head. "What's that?"

"Unless we walked right past it and you didn't mention it, you haven't shown me your office."

"Ah." Noel pushed his glasses up. "They say patience is a virtue, Ian. I'll show you when the time is right…" He paused. "Which would be tomorrow. For now, we've got to get back to the barracks. Don't want to miss our chance to check in the new recruits."

"All right." Ian let Noel take the lead, a strange sense of contentment filling him. How fortunate it was that the position of Merlin was granted through an internship… that his future was now a foregone conclusion. He couldn't imagine the difficulty of trying to compete for a field position.

Upon returning to his workstation, Noel took up a clipboard and led Ian through a corridor, to the outer doors of the barracks. Presently, the agents began to trickle in. Each one brought along a young man, whose expressions varied from confused, to star-struck, to calculating. They only stayed long enough to give their candidate's name to Noel, who checked each agent off on his clipboard and wrote the name down next to them.

Just as Noel had said, each agent bore a knight's name. Lancelot, Kay, Bedivere, Bors… Some names rang familiarly in Ian's ears, recalling the legends he had read when he was younger, but others he found difficult to place. At any rate, said knights did not seem interested in getting to know Ian. They gave him no more than a cursory, questioning glance before departing. After the first few encounters, Ian was happy to stand back and not make eye contact. Instead he kept his gaze fixed on Noel's ever-expanding list. Not a single name was familiar- but then again, he hadn't expected them to be. He hardly needed a thorough examination to understand what their fine clothing and prideful gazes meant. These men were upper-crust and well-bred and undoubtedly the kind of person who ran in completely separate circles from Ian.

Eventually, after a long break between agents, Noel hauled his watch to his eyes and sighed. "Nine o'clock is supposed to be the cut-off," he informed Ian, his placid face just barely masking his frustration. _"Somebody_ has forgotten the rules."

Before Ian could ask how many agents were expected to arrive, and who that _somebody_ might be, the door at the end of the hallway flew open. The man who emerged from it was unmistakably a Kingsman, based on his stylish suit, glasses, and walking stick, but his towering stature and weathered skin set him apart from the rest of the agents that Ian had seen. Beside him walked a young man clad in a black suit and white bow tie, with a graduation cap tucked under his arm and a graduation gown hanging over the opposite shoulder. The accompanying blue academic hood trimmed with white fur swished atop the gown with each step, threatening to slide off as he kept pace with the agent.

 _Jesus, which university did they pull him out of- Oxford or Cambridge?_

"Of course," Noel muttered into his clipboard. _"Took_ him long enough."

"So sorry I'm late, Merlin!" the newly-arrived agent called, oblivious to Noel's disgruntlement. "Chronologically challenged, you know."

"Yes, I _know_ ," Noel replied, without bothering to look up from his clipboard. "Well, Percival, you're in luck today. We've still got a straggler who hasn't shown up yet."

Percival's eyes lit up. "Oh? Not that it's any of my business to ask, but who might that be?" He leaned in, trying to sneak a glance at the clipboard, but Noel held it up closer to his chest, blocking the words.

"You're right, it's _none_ of your business, but you might as well know that it's Caradoc," said Noel. "He had to travel back from Manilaat short notice, so _he_ at least has an excuse."

"No need to get snippy with me," Percival said, arching an eyebrow. He then turned his attention to his candidate, patting his shoulder. "Go on in, my boy. And good luck."

The man nodded and slipped through the doors, while Noel clicked his pen and positioned it above the clipboard. "Name?"

"Harry Edward Hart," Percival stated. "Really, Merlin, a ballpoint pen? Why don't you try-" He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, but the movement was broken when his eyes landed on Ian. Delight surged across his face, greatly surprising Ian, who had only expected the usual furrowed brow

"Merlin, why haven't you introduced me to this dear boy?" Percival's hand shot out, practically into Ian's face, as he broke into the widest crooked grin Ian had ever seen. "The name's Agent Percival. Pleasure to meet you!"

"I- Ian Meyer," Ian managed to blurt, completely stunned by Percival's intrusion. _"Likewise."_ He took the offered hand, and was rewarded with a firm handshake that threatened to break his fingers.

"Ian has just begun an internship with me," Noel announced, sounding as if he'd rather not prolong the conversation. Percival let go of Ian's hand and turned to Noel, visiblyastonished. "Is that _so?_ I certainly hope this doesn't mean you're thinking of leaving us soon."

"Have no fear," Noel sighed. "You haven't seen the last of me yet." In an instant his tone turned firm, like the flick of a light switch. "Now Percival, if you'll leave me to continue my job. I'm sure there are more productive ways to spend your time than hanging around and interrogating me."

" _You're_ rather touchy tonight," Percival remarked. When Noel only aimed a hard stare at him, he backed off. "Very well, perhaps I'll see you tomorrow."

"Much appreciated," Noel called as Percival walked back to the end of the corridor. Once the agent was out of sight, he turned apologetically to Ian. "Sorry about that, Ian. Percival can be… overwhelming."

"I'd have to agree with you there," Ian muttered, rubbing the hand that Percival had shaken. He had to admit he was impressed by the sheer strength hiding beneath the smooth lining of his suit.

Eventually Caradoc arrived with his candidate, completing the full lineup. Ian counted each name in his head. _Kay, Pellinore, Lancelot, Bors, Erec, Bedivere, Percival, Caradoc._ Eight agents total, as well as one Arthur and one Merlin. Presumably nine agents were the norm, following the training program. Racking his brain, Ian tried to figure out who the missing knight was, but his thoughts were stopped in their tracks as Noel rested his hand on his shoulder.

"It's time to begin," he said. "Your first task is simple- stay by my side and listen."

Ian nodded in understanding, and with that Noel opened the doors to the barracks.

Right away Ian was greeted with gray, unadorned walls and tenbunks, five neatly lined up on each side. Rafters supported the ceiling, which were in turn supported by posts. However, Ian's surroundings only warranted a few glances compared to the people within them. The candidates had formed a cluster near the center of the room, where they conversed quietly. As Noel walked up to them, their eyes fell upon him, and the mild chatter ceased.

"Fall in," Noel ordered, and the candidates promptly consolidated, standing at attention. Noel stopped a few meters before the group, surveying them closely. Ian stepped into place beside him, feeling the stares from the candidates as if they had laid their hands on him. He tried to block out the phantom sensation by focusing on Noel's voice.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Noel began in a conversational manner. Ian blinked- his uncle's Edinburgh accent was already fairly soft after living in London for so long, but now his words contained only the barest hint of it.

"My name is Merlin. No doubt yoursponsors have informed you that we are at Kingsman headquarters. This is where you'll be staying for the duration of your training."

He paused as the words sunk in, and then moved toward the bed closest to his left, picking up a bag from its surface and presenting it to the candidates. "Can any of you tell me what this is?"

There was a brief moment of consideration, and then all hands flew into the air. Noel pointed to a man in the front row. "Yes?"

"It's… a body bag?" the man said, his voice curving into a question mark.

"You're correct." Noel tossed the body bag to the man, who broke from attention to awkwardly catch it. "Now, I want you all to recognize that once you've entered this room, cold feet will not be entertained. If you think that you can qualify for a position at Kingsman without making certain… sacrifices, you'd best think again. " Despite the intimidating words, not a single stare wavered. If anything, their eyes grew steely with determination. Ian found their resolve admirable.

"When I tell you to fall out, you will each find a bag and write your name on it, as well as the names of your next of kin. To do so means that you're acknowledging all the risks that come with our training program, not to mention our insistence on confidentiality." Noel's eyes hardened, scrutinizing the group of candidates. "It's best you remember that last one, because if you break said confidentiality, it will result in you returning home in the bag that you chose."

At that, the candidates' faces grew paler, a few losing their determination. The man that Noel had called on grew especially nervous, his thumbs twitching over the canvas of the bag. For a few seconds silence hung in the air, before Noel calmly moved on.

"Only one of you will make it out of this training program, to become the next Agent Galahad." Instantly Ian's ears pricked, his mind clicking to life like the turning cogs in a clock. _Galahad!_ That was the name of the missing knight, the one who in legends of old had joined Lancelot and Percival on a quest to find the Holy Grail. Now he could recall reading the story, completely enthralled by the mental images jumping off the page…

Then Ian's thoughts were scattered to the wind when he felt Noel lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Coincidentally," his uncle said, "you will be joined by another man during your training sessions, though he won't compete for Galahad's title. This is Ian Meyer, here to gain necessary combat skills as a part of his internship at Kingsman." Ian's mouth went dry at the sound of his name. Noel went on. "I trust that you'll all be on your best behavior during training. Remember, working for Kingsman is no joke. Now, unless anyone has any questions…" He paused for just a second, and then forged ahead before any hands could rise. "I leave you to enjoy your evening. Lights go out at 10. Fall out."

The sound of shuffling feet filled the barracks as each man relaxed and made for a bed to claim as their own. Ian, however, was no longer paying attention. He hardly waited for Noel before turning and heading to the door, his pace quickening. _Get out, get out, before they start questioning you…_ He sighed to expel the sudden tightness in his chest.

Once the doors were safely closed behind them, Ian wasted no time. He turned to Noel, a cold demand for knowledge in his voice. "Why did you single me out in front of them?"

Noel was unfazed, his eyes bearing their usual calm. "I thought it best to explain your presence before you were asked about it. You'll be joining the candidates for field training, but not for anything else. I didn't want them to grow resentful of you for skipping out on some of the worse parts of the program." His accent grew thicker with each word, as if he was shaking off the identity he'd assumed in the barracks.

Ian felt a slight twisting in his gut at the words "worse parts." He tried to ignore the feeling by concentrating on Noel's explanation. It took all he had not to make the bitter remark- _I think you're too late for that, Noel._ The mere fact that Ian wasn't going to take part in full training automatically made him easier to resent.

"Still didn't enjoy being put on the spot like that," Ian told Noel, trying to make him understand. It wasn't necessary to call attention to him, attention that wasn't exactly warranted…

"What, you couldn't take it?" replied Noel smoothly. "Ian, I understand how you feel, but you can't spend your entire career looking over my shoulder. My position at Kingsman requires occasional field work, and I can assure you that when you're in the field, being stared at is the least of your worries."

"But you couldn't have left me to-"

"Ian," Noel cut in, chiding. "Let it go. I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, but you're going to have to face worse once you're in my shoes." Seeing that Ian still wore a dark expression, he came closer to his nephew and patted him on the shoulder. "Here's a lesson for you- life's too short to get worked up over the fine print."

With that, Noel withdrew, leaving his advice simmering in Ian's mind. Slowly the feeling of being out of sorts faded under Noel's logic. He wasn't sure if Noel really _got_ it, but he was undoubtedly right.

"Now, I'm going to my office, and I suggest you get a bit of rest in your room," Noel suggested. "I'll be at your door once it's time for the first test to start."

"First test?" Ian stated. Clearly the candidates wouldn't be left to simply "enjoy their evening."

"Yes, the first test is tonight," Noel explained, tossing the words behind his shoulder as he departed. "You'll see later on when I call for you." Ian paused for a moment at the barracks, thinking over all that had occurred thus far, before rushing to catch up with his uncle.

* * *

 _…if you break said confidentiality, it will result in you returning home in the bag…_

Merlin's ominous words echoed through Harry's head long after he had left the barracks. He stared after the door and slowly ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a pent-up breath. _Kingsman's no joke, indeed._ If it wasn't for the end result, Harry was sure he'd be having second thoughts about joining this program. Especially since he completely lacked training in combat.

But the tantalizing potential of becoming a Kingsman agent was too great for him to drop. Funny how an organization he had only just heard of that evening could hold such a sway over him.

Harry slid over to the nearest bed and picked up the provided body bag and marker. Uncapping the marker, he wrote his name with a flourish that masked his uncertainty. _There._ Even if he did end up in the body bag, he'd be damned if he didn't leave a mark first.

Despite Merlin's suggestion that the candidates get to know each other better, very little conversation abounded once he left. Those on Harry's side of the room kept mainly to themselves, while three on the other side had drawn together in a close-knit circle. Their furtive murmuring did not escape Harry's attention, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Curiosity got the best of him, and so he angled his body towards the group and watched them surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye.

"That fat bugger…" one of the men stage-whispered, the words reaching Harry's ears. "Bet he won't last a day…"

"Never going to make it…" another agreed. "Did you see the way he was _shaking?_ Fucking disgrace…"

"What about that one at the end?" jeered the third. "In the cheap gray suit. Wonder where they dug _him_ up…"

Instantly Harry's gaze darted to the objects of the group's scorn. "The one at the end," at the bunk on Harry's right, gave no indication that he had heard their words. However, the man to Harry's left stared down at the floor, the marker motionless in his hand. The pasty pallor of his skin brought out a sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks and contrasted the thick black frames of his glasses. The body bag in his hands was the same one that Merlin had thrown to him. Shame was evident from the stiff way he hunched in on himself, as if wanting to take up as little space as possible.

Anger surged through Harry. _This isn't right_. The candidates had spent less than an hour together, and already cliques were forming and shit was being talked. Disgusted, Harry turned fully towards the three-person group, harsh words already materializing on his tongue.

But before he could release any of them, a brash voice rang out from his side of the room. "Hey there! You three in the corner!"

The group's conversation died as they turned their attention to the source of the voice. Turning his head, Harry caught a glimpse of the speaker- a short, thin young man in a finely-creased dark suit, the spiking of his blond hair at odds with the rest of his formal attire.

"You do realize I can hear every word you're saying?" he announced. He gestured to his side. "Which means that _they_ can hear it too. If you haven't got anything nice to say about your fellow man, don't say anything at all."

One of the men stepped back, a glare deepening on his face. Being the tallest person in the room, he cut a highly imposing figure.

"Where'd you read that one?" he said in a voice as brittle as dead leaves. "You swallowed an etiquette textbook or something?"

"No, but I'm sure it'd do _you_ good," evenly replied the blond man.

"Yes," Harry blurted, eager to get a word in. "Youmight choke on it."

The blond stared over at Harry with a touch of admiration, while the tall man's eyes hardened. "Now who's the one who shouldn't be saying anything at all?"

"There's a world of difference between cleverly telling a person off and blatantly whispering insults when their back is turned," the blond man said, looking back to the tall man. "One's not very gentlemanly."

"I'd respectfully suggest either lowering your voices, leaving the room, or perhaps keeping your bloody mouths shut," Harry added dryly. He levelled an unimpressed stare at the men across the room. "Didn't Merlin say he expects us to be on our best behavior?"

"Very good!" the blond exclaimed appreciatively. He trotted over to the man beside Harry, ignoring the comments of "suck-up" and "get off our backs, asshole" that flew through the air. "Hey there." The blond held his hand out to the man, who stared disbelievingly at it. "Hope you didn't mind my sticking up for you. Bullies are deplorable people. What's your name?"

"…Conrad Hastings," the man replied in a soft, rich baritone. He hesitantly took the blond man's hand, and was rewarded with a vigorous shake.

"My name's Damon Lassiter. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." Damon let go of Conrad's hand and peered over his shoulder, focusing on Harry. "And you! Thanks for backing me up, mate. Not everyone's brave enough to speak out the way you did."

Harry shrugged. "You know the saying. 'Manners mak-'"

The phrase died on his lips at Damon came forward, bearing a wide smile. For a second- but just a second- his crystalline blue eyes left Harry too stunned to speak.

Then Damon declared, "Say! Haven't I met you before?"

 _No, we couldn't possibly have met, I'd have remembered someone as handsome as you are…_

Quickly Harry recovered himself. "Can't say if we've met." He offered his hand to Damon. "Your name doesn't ring a bell."

"But I'm sure we have," Damon insisted, stopping just centimeters before Harry. He took Harry's hand and shook it just as heartily as he had shaken Conrad's. "What's _your_ name?"

"Harry Hart," Harry answered. Immediately Damon dropped his hand and stared wondrously at him.

"Harry _Hart?_ No wonder I recognized you! We had the same algebra class in secondary school!"

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I still don't remember." He could hardly recall the lessons, much less the people in the class.

"Really? You don't remember Damon Lassiter?" Damon grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Algebra with Mrs. Fitzgerald? I sat behind you in that class!"

 _Sat behind me?-_

 _OH._

Of course the face wasn't familiar, but the _voice…_ Memories of constant whispering began to fill Harry's head. "Harry, what answer did you get?" "Harry, how do you solve this equation?" "Harry, I wasn't listening…"

It wasn't a matter of not remembering, it was a matter of not _wanting_ to remember.

Rather than let the realization show, Harry plastered on a smile. "Oh, of _course,_ Mrs. Fitzgerald's class. Forgive me for not recognizing you, it's certainly been a while. How have you-"

"Me, I've been great," Damon enthused, not letting Harry finish his inquiry. "Never better! You know I passed that class thanks to you? If you hadn't helped me every time I asked, I might have failed year ten!" He laughed, and Harry forced a small chuckle, even as the truth ran through his mind. _You mean if you hadn't CHEATED off me, you might have failed…_

"What have you been up to since then?" he asked politely. Damon wearily rolled his eyes. "Oh, let's not talk about _my_ life. It's all been a load of bullshit ever since I left secondary. I want to know what _you've_ been up to." He let go of Harry and playfully aimed a punch at him. "Based on those threads of yours, I'm assuming you did well for yourself!"

Instinctively Harry glanced down at his academic dress and the robes he had draped over his shoulder. "Today was my graduation from Oxford. Law degree."

"And to think you ended up _here_ ," Damon marveled. "Never would have expected to see a familiar face. Well, I suppose congratulations are in order. Who roped you into this program then? Was it one of your professors playing undercover?"

At first Harry kept his mouth shut, remembering Basil's last words to him as they traveled down the corridor. _"A word of advice. DON'T tell anyone that I'm the one who proposed you. Candidates are forbidden to discuss their sponsors."_ Presumably it was a security measure. But surely there was no harm as long as he didn't name names… "No, it was a friend of the family."

Damon's bright expression didn't falter. "Ah, I see. For me it was my godfather." He made a face. "Stupid parents thought they could dump me off on him and he'd be able to 'straighten me out' or some such nonsense. Well, joke's on them, hm?" As Harry nodded and fought valiantly to maintain his smile, Damon's gaze slid past Harry, as if he had suddenly grown bored. He stepped unceremoniously away, his hand already shooting out to greet the next person. "Hello, the name's Damon Lassiter. Hope you didn't mind me sticking up for you back there!"

" _Charming_ man," Harry muttered to himself, immensely relieved for the distraction. If there was one thing he did remember about Damon Lassiter, it was that the man could talk for _ages._ He heard a suppressed giggle behind him, and turned to find Conrad sitting on his bunk, staring after Damon in restrained amusement.

"You're certainly right." Gracefully Conrad extended his hand. "Conrad Hastings."

"Harry Hart." Harry went over to shake Conrad's hand, grimacing for a second at the sound of Damon's loud voice behind him. "Although I figure you've already gathered that…"


	4. The First Test

Distraction was not hard to come by at Kingsman HQ. Once Ian and Noel parted ways, Ian went back to his room to explore the bookcase. The volumes within were not the technical tomes that Ian had expected. Instead, each of the three shelves contained a different genre of literature- the classics, Arthurian legend, and- of course- spy fiction. Ian found himself shaking his head, a faint smile on his face. His deep-rooted suspicions told him that Noel was the one who had stocked the bookcase. _No one else has such… delightful taste._ He chose a random book from the Arthurian shelf and settled down to read.

When 11:00 rolled around, Noel's knocking at the door startled Ian out of his selection. "Ian, you still up?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," Ian responded, shutting the book and standing up. He met Noel in the hall, who led the way to the elevator.

Little was spoken as they reached the bottom level. Ian assumed he'd be led back to the barracks, so it came as a surprise when Noel passed the doors and moved further down the corridor.

"Excuse me, N…. Merlin. What's the nature of this test?"

"We're to test how these candidates perform under pressure, and how well they work together," Noel said. "Problem-solving in an unfamiliar environment is a very useful skill to have, but the mark of a Kingsman is one who can get the job done without sacrificing his teammates along the way." He unlocked a door adjacent to the barracks and pushed it open. "You'll understand once the test ends."

The room's interior was just as gray and bare as the barracks were. Its only furnishings were a chair and a computer terminal, which appeared to be hooked up to a large TV screen. As Ian stepped into the room, his feet sunk into the carpet.

 _A padded floor?_

Noel went straight for the monitor. He tapped at the keyboard, bringing both it and the TV screen to life with a live feed of the barracks. All the candidates were tucked into their bunks, having dutifully put their lights out at 10.

"There they are," Noel murmured, half to himself. "Soundly sleeping."

His fingers shuttled swiftly across the keyboard, summoning what looked like a schematic of the barracks' layout. He brought it up side-by-side with the view from the cameras, clicked on an area of the schematic, and jabbed at a key.

"Well… not for long."

Onscreen, the barracks transformed in a way that ought to have defied physical laws. The floor slowly receded into the wall, leaving each bed hanging in space. Below them, unbeknownst to the sleeping candidates, was a deep pit. Even through an aerial view, Ian couldn't make out the bottom.

His stomach dropped, but the sensation was followed by a surge of relief. _At least I'M not in that room…_

* * *

"What the hell?!"

"The fuck's going on?"

His mind muddled from the rude awakening, Harry sat up and reached for the light switch above his bunk, illuminating the scene. Across the room from him, five men sat awake in their bunks, gripping their bedsheets with terror in their eyes.

And between both sides of the room… nothing. No more concrete floor. A yawning chasm took the place of where the surface had once been. Only the bed kept Harry from plummeting into it.

His heart began to pound. "What's going on?!" The rest of the candidates were either too frozen or too swept away by pandemonium to answer. Likely none of them even knew _how_ to answer. Carefully Harry twisted backwards to make sure the bunk was securely bolted to the wall. It held firm, and he relaxed a bit. As long as he wasn't in any danger of falling…

But even so, there was no way he'd be able to get out of bed, what with the _floor gone missing._

The man on Harry's left- Paul, Harry quickly recalled- huddled to the furthest end of the bed, his hand pressing against the cold wall as if he could cling to it for support. On Harry's right, Conrad was an ice sculpture, not even blinking as he stared into the abyss before him.

"How deep do you think it goes?" one of the men on the opposite side of the room pondered, his voice half marveling, half nervous.

He was met with a response from the tall man who had exchanged words with Damon- "Fuck, I can't see the _bottom._ "

Harry inched forward to peer into the inky depths. If he squinted, he thought he could see _something_ at the bottom- but there was such little light…

"How did they construct this?" he whispered, mostly to himself. It was incredible that he and the rest of the candidates should have spent their whole evening in this room without ever realizing that the floor was hollow.

" _Why_ did they construct this?" Paul countered.

Harry snapped his head up to look at him."It... It's got to be a test of some sort."

Once he'd spoken the words, it seemed perfectly clear. This floor-less room must be the beginning of their training, sprung upon them unaware. Tension set in, everyone waiting with bated breath for _something_ to happen. Then it was broken by the uncanny sound of laughter.

"Relax, mates, we're perfectly fine!" Damon chuckled from two beds away. "As long as none of you have got a sleepwalking habit, we're safe and sound as long as we remain in bed."

"But shouldn't we be _doing_ something?" insisted the man on his right.

"Yeah, of course," Damon said, utterly blasé. "We should just go back to sleep and try to forget that this whole thing ever-"

His words were broken by the cry of one of the men on the opposite side of the room, who scrambled towards the other end of the bunk. "Fucking hell! It's going into the wall!"

As the words registered, Harry felt a jolt run through his bunk. He turned around and nearly gasped when he realized his bed was, ever so slowly, retracting into the wall. The pillow and blanket were pushed towards the foot of the bed as the mattress was swallowed whole.

Harry was on his feet in an instant, swaying uncertainly and doing his best to avoid looking down. "We have to get out of here!" The statement was met with resounding assent and more cries as each of the candidates' bunks were activated. At first Harry's gaze swung towards the door. If there was any way to clear the gap between it and the beds, maybe they would have a way of escape—

"The air vent!" All eyes immediately zeroed in on it, staring up at their last hope for salvation. It took no time before each candidate was on his feet. The man directly below the air vent hauled himself up onto the beams overhead and tugged at the vent's covering.

There was no time to lose. Harry reached out to the rafters, pushing himself up using the wall as support. Clinging to the beam with both arms and legs, he breathed a small sigh of relief as he watched his bed get devoured. Then that relief vanished as he spotted Conrad still crouched against the foot of the bed, stricken with terror. His bunk had already retreated halfway into the wall, moving at a faster rate than Harry's. Instead of trying to climb to the rafters, though, Conrad sat dumbstruck, waiting for the inevitable.

"Conrad!" Harry called out, inching over to him. He held out his hand, ignoring the sweat coating it and the black void below, as Conrad looked up with a start. "Take my hand!"

As quick as a shot, Conrad bounced to his feet, reaching out to Harry. After Conrad had grabbed hold of the beam with his other hand, Harry managed to pull Conrad up. For a moment they stayed in place, clutching the solid beam for dear life, and then Harry began shimmying towards the air vent. Ahead of him, the man managed to pull the cover aside. He tossed it away triumphantly and plunged into the vent, followed by a surge of eager candidates.

From above, it was evident to Harry that all of the beds were sinking into the wall at different speeds. He had been lucky to have enough time to escape; others were dangling from the rafters and looking on helplessly as their bunks were swallowed. On the flip side, a few remained poised on their beds, waiting for the precise moment to climb up. Harry was seized by the urge to help them, but he couldn't turn back now. The air vent was so close, so close-

But then he froze abruptly at a sudden sound, causing Conrad to bump into him. Craning his neck around, Harry's heart stopped cold. Paul perched at the very edge of his bunk, the one centimeter that hadn't yet disappeared. For a split second he teetered unstably, but then his last foothold gave out and he plunged into the darkness below. His startled, wordless shout echoed across the room- not a scream, nothing that suggested comprehensible terror, just the cry of a person who hadn't quite been expecting that.

To Harry, the sound was just as chilling.

"Move it!" Conrad hissed behind him, drawing Harry's attention back to the task at hand. He took a deep breath and crawled forward, not stopping again until he had reached the blissful escape of the air vent. But Paul's fall into the dark replayed itself in his head.

The vent clanked noisily as a myriad of shoulders and limbs fought for forward traction in the narrow crawlspace ahead. All Harry could feel was the smooth metal below him and around him, surrounding him like a robotic cocoon. It would almost have been entertaining, reliving a classic scene from an action film, if the need to escape hadn't been so pressing.

Then, without warning, the man in front of Harry tumbled out of the air vent, revealing the sickly pallor of light to him at last. His pace slowed as he approached the other end. Carefully he stopped and poked his head out of the gap, taking in his new surroundings. Immediately he caught sight of several of the candidates lying strewn about on the floor. Beyond them, the man who called himself Merlin and his intern- Ian, had that been the name?- looked on. Judging it safe to enter, Harry scooted forward and let himself drop, collapsing onto the padded surface below. Conrad tumbled down beside him a moment later.

Although the floor beneath him was as soft as a mattress, the drop still took some of the breath from Harry's lungs. Or perhaps that was the adrenaline catching up to him. He rolled onto his back and scoped out the room upside down. Merlin and Ian towered over him, wearing matching blank stares. Harry couldn't tell if they were impressed or disappointed with the results of the test. _If that's what it was._ He averted his eyes, unsettled by their silence.

One by one, the remaining candidates popped out of the air vent, with Damon bringing up the rear. He enthusiastically launched himself to the ground, his eyes shining. Almost immediately his grating laughter started up again. " _That_ was wild! _Wow!_ "

Still laughing weakly, he sat up, and Harry followed suit. Slowly the candidates struggled to their feet before Merlin and Ian.

"It's okay now…" Damon murmured, winding down from the excitement. "We're safe." Whether he was trying to reassure himself or the rest of the candidates, Harry was unsure.

"Yes, _you're_ safe," Merlin's voice rang out, instantly shutting Damon up. "All nine of you standing in this room made it out alive, and in one piece. Congratulations on figuring out a viable escape route." He fell silent, and Harry waited. The image of Paul falling surfaced in his mind, and he held his breath. Surely his absence wasn't lost on the rest of the recruits…

"But-" Merlin said at last. His green eyes hardened, and his fists clenched together before he hid them behind his back.

"One of you did _not_ make it out of the room. One of you is _not_ 'okay now.'" Merlin's gaze lingered on Damon, a wordless reprimand. Then he nodded once to Ian. Quick as a flash, Ian left Merlin's side and traveled to the computer terminal on the right side of the room, above which an immense TV screen was mounted. A jolt went through Harry as he realized the view on the TV screen was that of the barracks, segmented into different angles as if taken from different cameras.

 _But I didn't SEE any cameras…_

Turning his back on the candidates, Ian began typing at the keyboard. Onscreen, the footage of the barracks reversed, and Harry watched the candidates crawl backwards along the beams. He saw beds emerge from the walls, saw men climb back into them. Then Ian paused and let the footage run normally, and he found himself watching Paul's fall all over again, the wordless shout still raising the hairs on his arms.

The sight proved sobering for the rest of the candidates, who straightened up. Merlin's eyes burned into each of them.

"All of you have failed this test," he said, his voice struggling to suppress overwhelming emotion. "Thinking quickly in an intense situation is one thing. But teamwork is _everything."_

He held his stare for a few moments more before hanging his head- and Harry felt a flicker of indignation bubble up within him. How was it fair to claim that he had failed the test of teamwork when he'd helped Conrad into the rafters? He'd wanted to do the same for the others. At least he had _noticed_ them. No matter his actions, shouldn't his _intentions_ be worth something?

Without a second thought, Harry put up his hand. Though the rest of the candidates didn't move, Harry could feel them side-eyeing him. Merlin raised his head, staring at Harry with a mixture of incomprehension and irritation.

"Yes, Harry Hart?" he addressed Harry, his voice raw. Harry put his hand down and squared his shoulders, meeting Merlin's gaze.

"How can you write us off like that?" he said, barely managing to keep his voice level. "I helped one man escape, and I almost went back for the others. I'm sure many of us felt the same way! I'm sorry, but it doesn't seem fair that-"

 _"Enough."_ Merlin's forceful voice was a drill boring straight into Harry's brain. He shut up immediately and froze, trapped under Merlin's cold stare.

"I suppose you expect to get points for _trying,"_ Merlin declared scathingly. "Well, here at Kingsman, actions speak louder than thoughts. Either you act on the principle, or you don't."

He walked closer to Harry, stopping right in front of him so that Harry was forced to meet the serious depths of his eyes. Then he addressed his intern.

"Ian?"

Silently Ian hit a key, and the paused footage on screen sped up, racing until it had reached the current point in the recording.

As if by magic, the barracks had returned to normal. The floor was back in its place and the walls had regurgitated the bunks. From one look, Harry could almost believe that the test had never happened- but the images in his mind wouldn't let him forget it.

"You're dismissed," Merlin said, a touch of regret in his voice. "Sleep well."

* * *

As soon as the last of the candidates had filed out of the room, Noel trudged over to the terminal. Waving Ian aside, he sat down heavily in the chair and began closing out the surveillance program.

That was when Ian deemed it safe to ask, "Was he your candidate?"

Noel halted in his work and glanced up at Ian, cocking his head. "My candidate? No. Training a candidate myself could lead to a biased result."

Ian's brow furrowed- he'd _figured_ that, but it just didn't add up. Had there been another agent he hadn't met?

"Forgive my confusion, but how do nine candidates equal eight agents?"

Noel's eyebrows jumped upwards, and he cracked a wide smile. "Aha, you've caught on quickly, Ian. During training, Arthur submits a candidate along with the rest of the agents."

 _Ah..._ But the satisfaction of understanding was short-lived. Ian gave the monitor a sidelong glance.

"Is he… What happened to his candidate? Did he fall to his death?"

"Not quite," Noel murmured. "If you'll come with me, I'll show you." He shut the terminal down and then pushed himself to his feet. Ian followed him to the door, puzzling over the enigmatic response.

At the very end of the corridor was a stairwell, which Noel slowly descended. Ian had to pace himself in order not to overtake him. He noted curiously that Noel was leaning to one side as he walked, favoring his right leg. But before Ian could offer his arm for support, they had reached the bottom of the stairs where Noel's step grew sure again, so he dismissed the thought.

Down the hall was a door in the exact same position as the barracks overhead. Noel unlocked the door and pushed it open, while Ian looked both ways down the hall, wondering what was going on.

The room that Noel revealed was pitch-black, until he threw a switch, blinding Ian with the light. When his vision cleared, Ian found himself staring at his own reflection. The room's walls were slanted, angling upwards from the cramped space at the bottom. All four were covered in mirrors. The floor was padded, just like the observation room overhead.

But what caught Ian's eye right away was the man standing in the center of the room. The same man who had fallen from his bunk during the test, now safe and sound.

"Paul," Noel said, approaching him. "Thank you so much for devoting your time to our program."

"Not a problem," Paul said cheerfully, closing the distance between them and offering his hand. "I consider it an honor, Merlin."

Noel gave a satisfied smile as they shook hands. "I'm glad to hear it." He waited for Paul to leave the room, and then turned to Ian, who was examining the walls in baffled amazement.

"So it was all a- a trick." Ian's words came out haltingly. "An _illusion_."

"Well, they don't call me Merlin for nothing," Noel said. "The danger was simulated, but its reaction most certainly was not." Quietly he stepped into place behind Ian's shoulder, so that Ian jolted when he turned and realized how close his uncle was standing.

"Things are hardly ever what they seem at Kingsman, Ian. You'll learn that soon enough."


	5. Canine Companion

"So... he was a plant."

"Well…" Noel took a thoughtful sip from his coffee mug before answering. "He wouldn't refer to himself as such, but yes, Paul was planted to teach the candidates a lesson. I borrowed him from our tech department in Berlin, and he'll be staying on to help with my workload. Behind the scenes, of course."

There seemed no point in asking _why-_ at least, Ian opted not to question Kingsman's methods. Instead he asked, "Do you do this for every round of training?"

"Yes." Noel rose from the table. "Do you really think we'd risk innocent lives to run a _training program?_ Kingsman as a whole is only prepared to take a life in order to save the lives of others. It would be going against our standards, not to mention displaying a certain degree of cruelty, were we to actually let our candidates die."

Instantly several questions sprang to Ian's mind. _How often does an agent kill then? Are you considered an agent? Have you killed before?_ But each of those questions were beside the point.

"Okay, so why aren't you upfront about that policy?"

Turning his back, Noel set his mug in the sink and began running the tap. "Because I've learned that when pathos fails, fear is the most excellent motivator." He turned his head to shoot a frightening smirk at Ian. "Anda realistic simulation ensures equally realistic reactions. If the candidates knew they weren't in any danger, they wouldn't act accordingly, which makes for an inaccurate assessment of their skill. It's how Kingsman has always run training."

Ian nodded, wishing he had a clipboard like Noel's to help him keep notes. It had taken him a while to understand, but with Noel's explanation, everything finally made _sense._ He found himself admiring the degree of organization and amount of thought that had been put into this training program.

When Noel had finished washing his mug, he headed to the door, while casting a quick backward glance at Ian. "I'm going to the dining hall to address the candidates. You go set up the cages at the front, and I'll meet you out there when I'm through, all right?"

"All right," Ian said. He swallowed the rest of his scrambled eggs as Noel left the room, the sense of relief that had come with Noel's words dissipating. _Fear might be an excellent motivator for THEM, but not for me._

* * *

The early morning sun beat down on Kingsman's new recruits as they filed down the front steps of the mansion. Merlin had requested their presence on the lawn directly following breakfast. Harry's stomach was full of the bacon, eggs, and toast that he had consumed in the dining hall, and his ears were full of Damon's nonstop prattling. Last night's tragedy had sent the candidates to bed on a somber note, but apparently it hadn't been enough to dampen Damon's spirits. He strode ahead of the group, chattering enthusiastically to Isaac, just as he had throughout breakfast. Harry, who was well familiar with Damon's habits, found it easy to tune out his tenor tones, but the longer Damon went on the more he wished that someone would gag him.

 _It's too early for this…_

Nick walked beside Harry, while Conrad plodded a few paces behind them both. Bringing up the rear were the trio with whom Damon had tried to pick a fight, now known to Harry as Frederick, Terry, and John. All morning Harry had seen them skulking about, dragging behind the candidates as they traipsed down to the dining hall and sitting at the far end of the table, away from everyone else. It was evident, albeit unfortunate, that this clique was here to stay, at least until one member was eliminated. Mild frustration rose in Harry as he focused on their voices, their indistinct murmurs escaping his range of hearing. Merlin's fateful words from last night bubbled up in his head- _"Teamwork is EVERYTHING…"_

 _That doesn't mean much when we're not ALL committed to it._

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his thick hair to smooth it down. Rather than waste time growing more irritated with the "clique," he subtly turned his attention to Conrad, regarding him with curiosity mixed with a dose of worry. Last night their friendship had seemed off to a promising start; Conrad had been cordial and willingly engaged Harry in a discussion of his background and current interests. However, after the first test, Conrad had scarcely spoken to Harry or anyone else, even when Harry sat next to him at breakfast. He walked now with a glazed look in his eye, as if his mind was trapped in another dimension.

 _Or as if he didn't sleep well..._ Harry wanted to wince at the painful thought of the night before. He wondered if any of the other candidates had stayed awake in bed upon returning to it, trying to shut out the voice screaming that _you should have done MORE,_ trying not to envision the body under the floor… Or perhaps the pit was as bottomless as it had looked, and Paul was _still_ falling. Logically Harry knew that the abyss couldn't go on forever, and Merlin had undoubtedly removed Paul's body after sending the candidates back to bed… but that hadn't made it easier to get to sleep.

What would be the official explanation for Paul's death? How would Kingsman break the news to his next of kin? It seemed like such a careless loss to Harry. How could an organization be so unfeeling towards its potential members?

And yet Merlin's words rang in his ears like the aftershocks from a rock concert. _Working for Kingsman is no joke… Either you act on the principle, or you don't._ Paul had paid the price for entering the training program, and Harry had paid the price for not rescuing him while he still could.

The thought should have been discouraging, deflating, but it worked magic on Harry. A sense of determination filled him as he got to the bottom of the steps, almost as heated as the sunshine on his skin. As he followed Damon and Isaac to the lawn, Harry conjured up a vow in his head. _Whatever happens from this point on, I am NOT going to leave Kingsman in a body bag._ Not if he could help it, anyway. He'd try his best, and if his diligence didn't pay off… well, a disgraceful exit was hardly comparable to leaving without a pulse.

But perhaps Harry wouldn't leave Kingsman at all. After all, Basil had confessed his supreme confidence in Harry's abilities. It was up to him to prove that such confidence was not misplaced.

"Good morning, gentlemen," called a voice from above, and Harry jerked his head up to see Merlin standing on the porch. His skin prickled- _I didn't even notice his arrival._ Behind him stood Ian the intern, his entrance equally unnoticeable.

"Fall in," Merlin said, and obligingly the candidates lined up at attention. It was then that Harry noticed the twelve cages stacked into a pyramid formation before him, each one holding a small puppy.

"I trust you all slept well last night." Despite Merlin's soft-spoken voice, his greeting resonated from the front porch, snapping the candidates mentally _and_ physically to attention. Harry suppressed the urge to scoff. If Merlin was being facetious, his joking wasn't exactly appreciated.

His gaze drifted, as if by accident, towards Ian. The intern's expression was just as blank as it had been the night before, when he wordlessly rewound the camera footage. Briefly Harry entertained the thought that Ian was an automaton, a soulless creature made for the express purpose of helping Merlin. _I wonder if he ever smiles. What would it take for man like that-_

"Last night was an important lesson for you all," Merlin said, bringing Harry's attention back to him. His powerful gaze surveyed the candidates, peering at them as if he knew their hidden secrets. "At Kingsman, teamwork is everything. Therefore, today each of you will choose your own… canine companion."

If Harry hadn't been facing Merlin, he would have imagined a grin on the man's face, but Merlin remained just as stony as his intern. Slowly Harry's eyes moved downward to the cages, taking in the young dogs pawing at the boundaries of their enclosures. His gaze landed immediately on a small greyhound pup, at the bottom of the formation. The sleekness of its gray coat and its long, spindly legs called to mind the occasional races that Harry had witnessed when he was younger. Confidence surged through him. Here was a dog that was built for running and chasing. A breed that obviously had the stamina to keep up with him during training. Yes, the greyhound was a perfect choice…

"…take them with you everywhere," Merlin was saying. "And at the end of your training, you will even take them home."

Harry's gaze traveled slowly back up to Merlin, but before he could direct his focus, his eyes stopped dead in their tracks.

Out of all the puppies set out for selection, _this_ one was easily the smallest. While the other dogs paced in their cages or sat trembling in the corner, the dog at the top was totally unbothered by its captivity. It lay with its head on its paws, eyes closed, snoozing its way through Merlin's speech.

Intently Harry stared at the dog, trying to identify its breed. The size of it and the pointed shape of its ears suggested that it was a terrier, but he couldn't tell what kind from its sandy coat.

 _Is it the CUTE kind?,_ a voice sang in his head. Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to tune out his internal voice. _Shut up. No. I'm not going to choose a dog based on LOOKS, for crying-_

Inside the cage, the terrier's dark brown eyes opened. It met Harry's gaze, staring hard at him. Then it opened its mouth in a big yawn, its pink tongue flashing.

In that instant, Harry's heart opened up and all thoughts of greyhounds vanished from his mind.

"Now choose your puppy," Merlin said, and Harry made a beeline for the top cage.

Observing the men on the ground below him, Ian was reminded of a saying he'd heard before - _pets often resemble their owners._ He wasn't sure if it was proper to call these training dogs _pets,_ but the candidates did appear to have chosen puppies that suited them well. The variety of breeds in itself reflected how different the candidates were to each other.

There were constants, of course. All of the men lined up in front of him were white, dressed well enough to suggest wealth, and appeared to come from a young age group- definitely years younger than the Kingsmen who had proposed them. However, they could never be mistaken physically for each other. The tallest one of the bunch appeared to be the oldest, in his late twenties at the very least. He had a long face and dark, hooded eyes, and he had chosen a Doberman pinscher. _John Harper,_ Ian remembered the name that Noel had marked down in his notes. Idly he wondered what the age limit for Kingsman training was. Though John's face was expressionless, his tightly-crossed arms and rigid stance indicated scorn for the men surrounding him. Unsettled by the toughness of his eyes, Ian looked away.

The rest of the candidates appeared small in comparison to John, but none were as small as the blond standing on John's right. _Damon Lassiter._ Damon was by far the shortest, and he was lean and trim enough to give the impression of a saplingplanted next to an oak tree. In that way he resembled his dog, a greyhound, which stood motionless by Damon's side as if it too was at attention. Damon's blue eyes and sharp cheekbones made Ian raise his eyebrows a fraction, but he chided himself as he moved on to the next candidate. _Focus. Stay professional…_

Ian's gaze traveled the line of candidates, hastily putting faces to names. _Nicholas Banner-_ a blond with a fierce, angular face and an unflattering moustache, who had chosen a fawn-colored pit bull. _Terry Morgan-_ the second shortest candidate, his skin tanned and his wiry, unruly hair flying every which way, with an Airedale at his side. _Harry Hart…_

All professional thoughts evaporated as Ian's gaze landed on a pair of dark brown eyes. For a moment all Ian could register was their softness, brimming with confidence and warmth. Then details of the face leapt out at him- pale, clear skin, thin lips, thick dark hair falling over his forehead…

His heart skipped a beat and began to pound. The blood rushing in his ears was so loud that he almost missed Noel's word to him- "Come on, Ian."

Then it sunk in, and Ian's thoughts shattered in an instant. _Did he notice-?_ But quickly it dawned on him that Noel hadn't been reprimanding him- he only meant for Ian to follow him down the steps of the mansion. Instantly the tension drained from Ian's system, a slight flush touching his skin. _No need to be so nervous._ There was no reason for Noel to suspect, and even if he did know, Ian could count on it never getting back to anyone…

But as they walked across the front lawn, Ian found it hard to compose himself. He could almost feel the presence of Harry Hart, as if he was a sonar blip on his internal radar. Thankfully, Noel dragged Ian's attention away from Harry with a gesture to the cages, where four dogs were left. "Fancy a pup?"

Ian drew closer his uncle, glancing first at him and then to the cages. "I'm not a recruit. Why should I get one?"

Noel shrugged. "Just figured I'd ask." He clapped Ian's shoulder. "Go join them, Ian. Your physical training begins now."

Ian nodded and slipped away, filing into place at attention with the rest of the men. On the way, he couldn't resist sneaking another glance at Harry, just to note which dog he had chosen. He struggled to keep a straight face when he noticed the cairn terrier sitting alertly at Harry's feet. Of all the puppies that resembled their owners, this one certainly proved the old saying correct. Dark eyes, dark hair… adorable…

Though _adorable_ was not the first word Ian would choose to describe Harry. Something more like _hauntingly attractive._

Noel began to lead the group in a few physical exercises, and Ian copied them mindlessly. _There's nothing to worry about._ This was nothing more than a momentary attraction, something Ian had felt countless times before. It wasn't as if he would develop any _feelings_ based on one look alone. He had only heard Harry speak once, for god's sake, he knew _nothing_ about the man as a person.

But when Noel called for Ian to demonstrate several leg stretches, he felt Harry's eyes on him as he stepped up, and boiled internally. In Ian's experience, mere attraction could spell disaster. Hell, the encounter at the bar that led to his current… relationship? Could it really be called that?... had been a happy, lucky accident. Other than that, a gaze lingering for a second too long or a conversation that pushed a little too deeply was a warning sign. When faced with the prospect of living openly in the face of adversity or denying oneself, Ian chose to try and feel nothing at all.

* * *

As Harry began his second lap around the outdoor track, he found he had gained a shadow. It wasn't his new dog, who trotted cheerfully beside him, tail wagging. It was Ian, herding the candidates along from the very end of the group. As Ian had no dog to train, the only sound Harry heard from behind him was light, rapid breathing and the pounding of feet against the gravel. He felt that Ian's solitary figure should unsettle him, but instead his presence proved somewhat satisfying. Adding a ninth man to their training almost made up for last night's loss. Ian slipped easily into the empty space Paul had left as if he'd intended to occupy it all along.

It was bemusing, though, that Ian chose to stay in the back, unhindered as he was by a dog. Had Merlin given him orders to stay behind, or did Ian simply prefer it? For a moment Harry considered slowing to give Ian a chance to catch up, but he quickly reminded himself that Ian was here to observe, not to actively partake. It was more important to focus on his own performance. Ignoring the man trailing behind him, Harry concentrated on his steady pace, making sure his dog could keep up. The pup's short legs didn't make him a fast runner, and Merlin had specifically said no candidate was allowed to carry their dog through the exercises.

Just ahead of Harry was Conrad, his legs pumping wildly as he tried to keep the pace that his excited Scottish terrier had set. With a bit of coaxing, Harry convinced his dog to speed up so that he could jog side by side with Conrad. The man was out of breath already, and his knuckles were white as he clutched his dog's lead for dear life.

"A word of advice!" Harry called when Conrad looked wildly over at him. "Show the dog you're in charge! Don't let him drag you around like that!"

"But-" Conrad began, his words punctuated by gasps. "He won't- coop-"

"Then slow down," Harry suggested. "Give him a break! Give yourself a break as well." _As long as we're not punished for falling behind._

Together they slowed down, jogging neck to neck, which excited Harry's dog. He frantically wagged his tail, pulling hard at the lead. Conrad still had trouble reigning in his dog, but as he ran more steadily, his spirits seemed to rise. They finished the laps without ending up in last place.

"Hesse was excellent!" Damon enthusiastically greeted Harry as he and Conrad approached the mansion. Harry sat down on the steps to catch his breath, eyeing Merlin, who was quietly waiting on the porch. "He didn't give me any trouble when we were in the lead. Tough about your dog, though."

Harry tried not to grimace in annoyance as he leaned back against the steps. He stared down at Damon's greyhound panting at its owner's side, and quietly raised his eyebrows.

"You wouldn't happen to have named your dog after Hesse the author?"

Damon looked up from scratching Hesse's ears to affix Harry with a wide grin. "You've read him too?"

"Haven't gotten around to it," Harry said casually, settling his hands behind his head. "But I'm pretty sure your dog is female, so the name might not be suitable."

In a flash, Damon became crestfallen. "…No, you're joking." He dropped to his knees and examined Hesse, growing ever more visibly dismayed. "Oh, _shit,_ you're not joking. God _damn_ it. I don't _know_ any female authors, besides bloody Jane Austen, and there's no way I'm naming this dog..."

"Charlotte Bronte?" Harry offered, at the same time that Conrad, who had sat down on the step below Harry, said, "Sylvia Plath?"

"Ayn Rand?" Nick spoke up from where he stood on the grass.

"Agatha Christie?" Frederick suggested from the top of the steps.

"Or," John sneered at Damon, "you could just call her 'Some Pretentious Dead Arsehole.'"

"What?!" Damon cried, springing to his feet and glaring at John. "Hermann Hesse is no pretentious arsehole! I think I'm looking at someone more deserving of _that_ title…"

Harry shook his head in disbelief as the two fell into argument. _Eventually Damon's got to realize he's not worth it._ Tuning them out, Harry turned his attention to his dog, who clambered up onto his lap. He stroked his soft fur and smiled as the dog bumped Harry's hand with his nose. _I've got to find a name for him…_

As if on cue, Conrad glanced inquisitively up at Harry. "Have you named your dog, Harry?"

"Not yet," Harry murmured. "What about you?"

Conrad looked down at his dog, pawing eagerly at the grass. "I've decided to call him George."

"A good name," Harry said approvingly. The Scottish terrier's dark eyes glimmered with an almost human knowledge- it seemed fitting for him to receive a human name. However, it wasn't the kind of name that suited Harry's dog.

He stared into the distance, trying to recall the names his parents had given their dogs over the years. His father's hunting dogs had all been given stolid, masculine names- Jameson, Gunther, Rip. Rarely were lapdogs kept, but the few that Harry could remember had equally unimpressive names. No one in the Hart household had much imagination when it came to naming their pets.

Which meant, Harry decided, that he should give his dog as imaginative a name as possible. He stared at the terrier in his lap, at how small it was, and at the oval shape it had curled itself into. Then he grinned.

 _Pickle._ A dog this cute deserved a name to go with it, without the masculine pretensions that the gun dogs had had. And from the way that Pickle obediently leapt to his feet, tail wagging, when Merlin called the candidates back inside, Harry supposed the dog also deserved a gentlemanly title. _Mr. Pickle-_ a name so silly that the gun dogs themselves would have been disgusted. But a respectable name all the same.

Conrad's reaction to hearing this name was to burst into friendly laughter, and for Harry, that was worth any ensuing ridicule.


	6. Observation Hours

When Ian met Noel after a post-training shower, he was thoroughly surprised to find that Noel was holding a beagle puppy. His face was placid as the dog squirmed in his grip. "Ian. Come meet Delilah."

A bemused chuckle escaped Ian as he came forward, hesitantly holding his hand out to the wriggling dog. "You're adopting her yourself?"

"It's been too long since I raised a dog," Noel responded. "I haven't had once since you were born. Thought it was time for a change." He watched solemnly as Delilah sniffed the offered hand and then gave it a lick, causing Ian to awkwardly recoil. His unease in Delilah's presence couldn't be helped. The Meyer family had never been big on pets, other than strays that Ian's sister occasionally tried to sneak into the house, and not many of Ian's close friends owned dogs. When he withdrew, Noel clipped a lead onto Delilah's collar and set her down.

"What happened to the other three?" Ian asked, remembering how four dogs had remained after the candidates made their selections.

"They'll be put to work once they're trained," Noel replied matter-of-factly. "Kingsman could always use a helping paw." Slowly his gaze drifted away from Delilah onto Ian, restrained warmth filling his eyes. "How did you enjoy your first day of training?"

Ian hesitated, wondering how he could put the day's experiences into words. There hadn't been a single moment of spare time between lessons, at least none that were longer than five minutes. He'd hardly had enough time to breathe and process what he was learning before moving onto the next activity. It was the most jam-packed, precise work that Ian had ever done.

At last Ian settled on simply saying, "It was interesting." There was too much to wrap his mind around for a properly succinct summing-up. "Bit more physical activity than I expected… though I should have anticipated that."

Noel flashed a split-second grin. " _Should_ being the key word, I assume?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Ian murmured. He reached up and rubbed his damp hair. "I enjoyed weapons training." He thought it best not to go into detail on how _much_ he had enjoyed it. As with the majority of untrained candidates- at least, those who were honest- Ian had never held a gun before that afternoon. Yet once it was in his hands, a dangerous thrill came over him. Such a small object could cause so much devastation, be it in the right or wrong hands. The weight of the cold steel was comfortingly solid, the shape fitting perfectly in his grip.

However, Noel had said that combat skills were only secondary to Merlin's position, so Ian didn't expect to use that gun outside of training anytime soon. As he looked back on the day's proceedings, he found himself wondering with a morbid sort of fascination how often Noel used a gun. _Or if he's ever killed a man_. He'd always spoken so little of his past… It occurred to Ian that he didn't even know how Noel had joined Kingsman. He filed the question away in his head for later, maybe someday after the training program had ended. It might not be his place to ask in the first place, given how highly Noel had always valued his privacy.

Noel tugged at the lead to get Delilah to her feet, bringing Ian out of his internal musings. "I think it's time for you to see my office." He cocked his head, and Ian smiled lightly. "How can I _possibly_ refuse that offer?"

Noel gestured to Ian to follow him, and they began a stately pace down the corridor. Curiosity simmered within Ian at every step. Truly, he _was_ eager to see what Noel had denied him yesterday. The workstation downstairs was only a segment of the domain that Ian was bound to inherit. He felt it necessary to be familiar with the entire territory before he was asked to take over.

They rode the elevator a couple of floors up, and then Noel led Ian down another corridor. He came to a stop at the first door on the left and unlocked it, holding it open for Ian to step inside. Immediately a monitor's immense screen confronted Ian, identical to the one at Noel's workstation down below. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished. A miniature fridge stood next to the counter on the right-hand side, hiding behind a large table. A microwave, and coffeemaker sat atop the counter. The left side was occupied entirely by filing cabinets and a well-worn sofa, which sported a dingy red shade, stuffing leaking out of a ripped cushion.

Though the full scope of the room intrigued Ian, he was drawn to the table and the odds and ends scattered about its surface. As he moved closer, he realized they were tools and gutted weaponry, the innards of a gun spilling across the table.

"So _this_ is what you do in your spare time," Ian said quietly, and Noel chuckled behind him. "One of my more glamorous hobbies."

Ian continued to stare at the table, taking in every inch. One of the items struck him as incongruous- a pair of glasses, with wire frames similar to the ones that both Noel and Ian wore. _Is he making a pair for one of the agents?_ But the agents Ian had seen the night before wore tortoiseshell frames… He reached out, but before he could touch the glasses, Noel swiped them up from behind Ian. "Shit. Those aren't for you yet." He went to the desk and deposited the glasses into one of its drawers, while Ian hung back, quietly impressed with Noel's stealthy approach.

Then the little word " _yet_ " caught in Ian's mind, and he turned it over, carefully inspecting the phrase. Did Noel mean…? He wondered if it was better not to ask, but couldn't help but feed his intrigue.

"N- Merlin-" The codename felt clumsy in Ian's mouth, but he forged ahead. "Pardon my asking, but do you intend… do you intend for _me_ to have those glasses?"

"Ah, and now you've figured out the surprise," Noel replied with a slightly bashful grimace. "That was careless of me. But you're correct. Those glasses are intended for you, once I'm finished with them."

Gratitude flowed through Ian. _My very first piece of Kingsman tech._ He was caught off-guard thinking of something to say, before deciding that a simple "Thank you" would suffice.

"It's no trouble at all," Noel said, unclipping Delilah from her lead. She began to explore the room while Noel went to the monitor.

"What exactly are the glasses' functions?" Ian asked, turning to his uncle. "Do they only act as cameras?"

"They don't do much more, actually," Noel said. "But you've done well in asking that question, because you're about to find out." He sat down before the monitor and woke it from its slumber.

"Tonight we'll begin your… let's call them observation hours." Noel's small, satisfied smile was reflected in the monitor's black screen before it flickered to life. "Agent Pellinore was sent not long ago to Aylesbury Estate in order to infiltrate and retrieve information that could prove to be highly useful to Kingsman. Together, we'll monitor his mission."

Ghostly remnants of the day before played themselves in Ian's mind. _I supervise field agents,_ Noel had said.This was the most integral part of his role within Kingsman, which meant Ian had to pay close attention. He nodded, even though Noel wasn't facing him, and went to fetch a chair from the table. Delilah followed him, sniffing his shoes curiously and almost stumbling over her oversized paws. Setting the chair to Noel's left, Ian casually sat down.

Noel wasted no time in establishing a video link to Pellinore's glasses cam. While the connection booted up, Ian glanced over to the filing cabinets and idly read their labels. _Agents, Past. Agents, Present. Tech, Past. Tech, Present. Tech, Prototype. Candidates, 1967, 1977, 1982…_

Fixated on the last list, Ian chanced to interrupt Noel's focus. "Excuse me, Merlin. Do the labels on those filing cabinets-" he gestured to them- "indicate that you… you keep records of every past Kingsman candidate, regardless of whether or not they were accepted?"

"That is correct," Noel responded directly, his eyes remaining on the screen. "As a precaution, of course. Those who proposed them are usually close enough to keep an eye on them." He sighed. "Our level of technology has progressed over the years so that recent candidates are less likely to remember their experience, but unfortunately we can't keep _everyone_ from running their mouth. Now… if it's no trouble, could you please fix some coffee, Ian?"

Noel's voice gave no sign of irritation for being disturbed, so Ian dutifully got up and went over to the coffeemaker. "I don't suppose you've memorized all those files…"

"It _is_ a lot of information," Noel acknowledged. "Perhaps reading material, for a rainy day." Ian mused over Noel's choice of words as he measured out water from the tap- one cup for each of them. How many "rainy days" would there be during Kingsman training? Judging from today's schedule- training all day and observing missions at night- it looked as if his only respite would be his bedtime.

As Ian's thoughts wandered this path, they soon took a turn down a more specific route. Casually Ian looked over at Noel, who sat erect in his chair, his back ramrod straight. It seemed rude to interrupt him again, but he _had_ to know…

"Just curious," he began in a low voice. "What did you tell my parents regarding my whereabouts?"

"Oh, I told them you died," Noel replied promptly.

 _"...Noel."_

"Sorry, poor taste," Noel amended, obviously picking up on the indignation in Ian's voice. "What I told them wasn't too far from the truth. I said I'd offered you a job with me in London, and you'd accepted."

The explanation took some of the weight off Ian's back- at least his parents wouldn't worry about their son's well-being- but at the same time, it just added more. Ian could only picture his father's face when he heard that his son had apparently taken off for London, leaving his job at home in the dust. Coupled with his mother's habitual frostiness towards her older brother, the prospects for acceptance did not look good.

 _I'll have to phone them sometime._ If he ever had the time, of course…

When the coffee was done, Ian rummaged for some mugs and brought Noel his drink, then sat down in the chair he had pulled over. Delilah had settled in beneath the monitor, lulled by its faint hum.

"Pellinore." Noel's voice, though soft, commanded attention. "Are you reading me?" Ian noted that his accent was fainter, restrained as it was when he spoke to the candidates. He wondered if Noel assumed the agents could understand him better that way.

Presently the response came- "Loud and clear, Merlin"- along with the visual. The monitor's screen lit up with the image of a darkened shopfront. Under the street lights, Ian could make out the reflection of a man he vaguely recognized as one of the agents he had met the night before. As with the rest of the agents, Pellinore was clothed in a luxurious suit, the likes of which Ian had seen hanging in the tailor shop during his brief walk through it. He carried a walking stick in hand and wore glasses perched upon his nose. Were it not for the LIVE TRANSMISSION flashing onscreen, Ian could half-believe that he was gazing at a flesh-and-blood image of the man.

"Ready to go," Pellinore said, turning away from the window. The transmitted image likewise turned, showing a lonesome street and an all-but-desolate pavement. The distant view expanded as Pellinore set off, and Ian found himself glancing up from the screen in assurance that yes, he was still indoors. Noel, well-experienced, didn't move an inch.

"While we've got the time," came Pellinore's warm voice, speaking quietly so that passersby couldn't eavesdrop, "I'd appreciate hearing how my godson is doing with his training."

"As great as the temptation to chat may be, I'm afraid it's not very productive," Noel immediately responded. "Stay focused on your task, Pellinore."

"Of course I'm focused." Pellinore halted at the end of the pavement. "But can you at least spare me one word? Tell me, are you straightening Damon out like I was asked to?"

Noel took a second to roll his eyes. "In a sense. He shows promise, but it'll take some thorough molding to turn that promise into action." Quickly, before Pellinore could respond, he added, "Now put those thoughts aside, Pellinore." He muted his microphone and swung his head over to Ian. "They're _always_ interested in their candidate's progress…"

Ian shrugged. "It's only natural."

"Only when conversation isn't a distraction," Noel said, but he nodded. He re-opened communications and watched the screen silently, while Ian took his first sip of coffee, the bitter taste stinging the back of his throat. Moments later, the caffeine jolted through his system, bringing every sense to alertness.

In no time Pellinore reached his destination, a run-down council estate A number shone on the door in the dim half-light, filling the screen as Pellinore approached it. His mic caught the distant sound of people shouting, and Ian tensed a bit to hear it. Pellinore couldn't have gone unnoticed in the area- his finery screamed that he didn't belong. Was there going to be an ambush?

Noel remained unshaken as he observed the transmission. "No security cameras," he informed Pellinore. "There should be two men in the flat, both of whom came back around 18:00. Only one of them is connected to the intel we need, so it's up to you to get the innocent man out of the picture and interrogate the other."

Ian took another sip of coffee, marveling privately at the crisp way that Noel spoke. Given the serious situation, Ian found his uncle's calm unbelievable. He briefed Pellinore with the voice of a golf commentator. Even if this was a routine mission, Ian couldn't imagine not having any personal investment in it.

"Remember," Noel said, "your target, Andrew Leary, has a scar on his forehead, and he's two centimeters taller than the other man. Just in case you mistake one for the other in the heat of the moment."

Pellinore laughed quietly, a shiver of excitement running through his voice. Ian pictured him rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "All right, I've got it." His hand reached for the door. "I'm ready, Merlin."

"Good." Satisfaction radiated Noel's voice. "All clear to proceed."

With no further preliminaries, Pellinore rapped at the door. Presently a man answered, peering through the crack, a chain preventing the door from fully opening. "Yeah?"

"My sincere apologies," Pellinore said at once. "I was wondering if you'd permit me to use your phone? I've no idea where I am, and my car's broken down…"

At first Ian didn't think it was going to work. The man closed the door without comment. However, Pellinore's glasses picked up the sound of the chain unlatching- which Pellinore took as his cue to bash the door in. A second later, all hell broke loose.

Andrew and his accomplice performed admirably, but once Pellinore disarmed them it wasn't much of a fight. His unassuming walking stick transformed into a weapon. Swung with a practiced hand, it beat the accomplice back and knocked him out cold with a blow to the head. Andrew retaliated with a formidable attack, but Pellinore blocked his moves and quickly put a stop to it. In no time he had Andrew in his grip, demanding coolly the details of the information he'd been sent to collect. Once Andrew finally relented, thanks in no small part to Pellinore's precise beatings, Pellinore raised his wrist to eye level, revealing… _a watch?_

"Sweet dreams," Pellinore murmured, before a small dart shot from his watch. It hit Andrew Leary, whose eyelids fluttered before his body went limp in Pellinore's grasp. Pellinore straightened up, letting Andrew slump unconscious to the floor.

"Good job, Pellinore," Noel said, leaning back in his chair. "That's all we need. I'll have a car sent to collect you."

"On it." Pellinore departed the flat, leaving Ian to exhale a long breath.

Somehow, that hadn't been quite what he was expecting. Not the mission overall, and not Pellinore's fighting skills- although he had to admit he was impressed with Kingsman's cleverly-disguised weaponry. No, what was most surprising about the scene that had just played out was that it didn't feel _real._ Logically, Ian knew that Pellinore had been in real danger. He knew that he had really taken out two men. But when he'd seen it all onscreen, the sense of imminent peril was somehow removed. _Ian_ wasn't the one being attacked, nor the one who had to scour for information. He was right here, safe and sound, and if he ever needed the reminder he simply had to look away from the monitor.

Ian stole a glance at Noel, and found him unruffled, silently sipping from his coffee mug. Slowly respect filled Ian, and he reached for his coffee too.

For the second time that day, everything made _sense_.

It wasn't until Ian had raised his mug to his lips that he realized he was softly smiling.


	7. Conversation

Observing missions alongside Noel came with several downsides, namely that Ian had little time to himself. However, Ian never complained about his lack of free time or having to get up at odd hours to observe overseas missions. Engaging in the action onscreen was worth it. Not _every_ night was spent staring into a bright screen, squinting at grainy camera footage, but those that were kept Ian completely occupied. At times he felt like he was playing an arcade game, only with high stakes and very real consequences. But rarely was Ian concerned, trusting the agents' judgement and Noel's guidance.

On his rare nights of freedom, Ian often found Noel curled up in a dead sleep on the battered couch in his office. Given his high caffeine intake, Ian sometimes wondered how his uncle even found it possible to fall asleep at the end of the day.

Ian, on the other hand, grew restless at night despite the day's exhaustive schedule. Usually he visited the gym or the library to catch up on his training. But on occasion Ian took to tiptoeing through the mansion, lurking silently among the shadows. The ground floor remained quiet, the lavish rooms daring Ian to enter them. He approached each one gingerly, as if setting foot beyond their threshold would upset the delicate display within and cause them to crumble around him **.**

Most nights Delilah retired with Noel, settling into the dog bed he kept in his office. But sometimes she followed Ian, jumping into bed alongside him, tail wagging and dark eyes glowing. A sneaking suspicion built in Ian's mind that perhaps Noel had intended for Delilah to be shared between the two of them. But he couldn't complain, even though he had no intentions of training a dog. Holding her soft warmth against his chest, Ian would run his fingers through Delilah's fur and ruminate on the day's proceedings, his progress, and his feelings on the training he'd been through.

The current verdict was somewhere between _inspired_ and _nervous._ It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the skills he was slowly accumulating. Handling and using guns was just as intoxicating as it had been the first day, and hand-to-hand combat was so invigorating that Ian spent his solitary hours in the library researching various forms of martial arts. And he was still completely honored that Noel had chosen to work with him. However, straightforward combat didn't seem to be his forte. Too much could go wrong during fieldwork, too much potential danger and too many lives that could be lost. Ian knew their lessons were only simulations, but he couldn't stop his mind from running wild with _what-ifs._ Every time his chest grew tight or his mouth went dry, a sudden rush of anger flooded him. _Stop acting so irrational._ But he couldn't seem to stave off the panic.

 _One of these days I've got to do something about this…_

The training environment wasn't exactly helpful to Ian's mindset. While the candidates conversed pleasantly and laughed with each other whenever they were permitted, as soon as Ian crept closer the conversation seemed to trickle to a close. _They HAVE to be doing it on purpose_. Ian wished he could tell them that he wasn't _trying_ to flaunt his immunity, but he suspected that no one would listen.

At any rate, there was nothing to do but his best. Ian knew that he couldn't dare inherit the title of Merlin if he didn't take any vital skills away from training. So he kept his head down and gave the candidates a taste of their own medicine, focusing solely on his personal performance. Isolation quickly became a comfort, keeping Ian's head clear and pushing away the nagging doubts that assailed him when the candidates were near.

But three months into the program, Ian's doubts returned with a single sentence.

"The next major test," Noel informed him, "will be a simulation of live combat."

* * *

 _July 1982_

An hour of free time usually preceded lights out, providing the candidates with some much-needed relaxation, or continued study for the devoted. Tonight Harry spent his time grooming Mr. Pickle. Under Harry's hands, Mr. Pickle appeared to fall into a trance, not letting out a single bark. An unconscious smile slowly wreathed across Harry's face, lulled into serenity. The TV's dull murmur and John and Terry's occasional commentary was the only soundtrack to the evening. Beside Harry, Conrad lay in his bunk, engrossed in the pages of a book. Across the room, Isaac groomed his Great Dane. For once, there was no Damon to try and strike up a one-sided conversation from two bunks down and then trade insults with John. Harry sighed, grateful for the quiet at last.

But it was shattered seconds later when Damon and Nick sauntered in, stripped down to shorts and undershirts with water bottles in hand. The door banged against the wall as they entered, which snapped Mr. Pickle back to life. He hopped up and barked at the two approaching men.

"…I'll remember that night as long I live," Damon continued, while Nick kept his eyes affixed to the ceiling, pointedly refusing to look at Damon. "There's no way I could forget a pair of legs like that." He sighed. "If that doesn't count as experience, I don't know what does."

"To be honest, it's hard to tell the experience from the bullshit," Nick replied, his voice stiff with suffering. Damon only snickered as he flopped down on his bunk, resting his hands behind his head.

"Could you _please_ shut your dog up?" Terry called to Harry, turning his head so Harry could see his dour expression. "We're trying to watch a film."

Damon shrugged into his mattress. "I say let Mr. Pickles bark all he wants."

It took all of Harry's restraint not to roll his eyes and correct Damon. After the first couple of times, he'd realized Damon would never get it right. "Mr. _Pickle._ Quiet." After a few warning growls, Mr. Pickle spun around in a circle and then lay down, rolling onto his back so that Harry could scratch his belly.

"Anyway," Damon said, restarting the conversation, "I don't think _you_ ever said a word about _your_ experience, Nick."

"There's not much to say," Nick all but griped as he stripped his undershirt off. "I've had three girls and, unlike _you,_ I don't need to parade around a trumped-up story to prove that I've had them."

"You shut up!" Damon shouted, springing into a sitting position and aiming an accusing finger at Nick. "You're the one who asked to hear it!"

Harry sighed inwardly. Frankly, it was surprising that he hadn't heard this topic of conversation come up yet. There had been the inevitable comments when they'd studied neuro-linguistic programming, but the topic hadn't really bubbled over until now. Based on his time at university, Harry had found that it never took long to get a group of young men talking about sex. _Just count me out of it_. If Damon would let him of course…

Nick snorted, before pulling a fresh undershirt over his head. "I find your 'experience' rather pathetic if that's all you have to say about it."

"Well, it depends on what type of experience you're talking about," Isaac piped up, setting his dog's brush down. "Give him the benefit of the doubt, at least."

"We're talking experience with a certain four-letter word," Damon informed Isaac, smirking. "L-O-V-E. Though of course there are others that work just as well."

Isaac's eyebrows shot up, and a devious grin spread across his face. "In _that_ case, you're _both_ amateurs. Come talk to me when you've bedded at least five."

Again Harry had to hold himself back from expressing his deep disinterest in the subject at hand. Keeping attention away from him was a safer course of action. He tried to tune out the conversation as it devolved into a contest of whose "experience" was better and who had done the most things with the most people in the least amount of time. Conrad remained buried in his book, and Harry tried to follow his example by focusing entirely on playing with Mr. Pickle.

Until the sound of his name jolted him unwillingly into the conversation. "Harry? You got anything to say on the matter?"

Harry glanced up to find that Damon's saucer eyes were leveled directly at him. He swallowed to keep from swearing. _Of COURSE he's the curious one…_

"What do you mean? I wasn't listening."

Damon made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "You know. What've you got to say about the whole wham bam thank you ma'am? How many birds were you off banging at Oxford instead of studying?" He winked, and once again Harry was reminded of why Damon's sponsor had been asked to "straighten him out."

"None," he said crisply, trying his best to avert the question. "I'm afraid I led a dreadfully boring lifestyle."

Damon, however, pressed on. "Come on, mate, I know you weren't _always_ such a stick-in-the-mud. Not in secondary, anyway. And I find it hard to believe a guy with your looks didn't pull _anyone."_

Confusion overcame Harry for a moment. How earnestly Damon had spoken… Was he actually expressing _interest_ in Harry, or- No. No, that was _too_ absurd.

"Well, I _didn't,"_ he said quietly, and more than a bit crossly. "But if I had, I wouldn't advertise the fact. How would you feel if the woman you've slept with went running to brag to her friends right after? Telling stories about her means betraying her confidence in you. It's disrespectful behavior."

Harry's words stunned Damon into silence. The TV's chatter filled the room as Nick, unconcerned, finished changing, and Isaac sprawled out on his bunk and rolled onto his side. Harry pulled Mr. Pickle onto his lap- the dog had tired out in seconds. _Here's hoping Damon has learned a lesson about privacy._ Though that was a very slim chance.

Then Conrad spoke up, his deep voice rolling through the air. "I've never even _kissed_ a woman before."

Damon was on him in an instant, eyes shining with incredulity. "What?! Why, Conrad, you have no _idea_ what you are missing!"

"Doesn't surprise me," came John's inevitable malicious comment, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. "No woman in her right mind would want to kiss _him."_

As Damon's energy was redirected towards defending Conrad's name, Harry stealthily eyed Conrad. Unlike the previous times that John or Terry had insulted him, tonight's comment left Conrad entirely unfazed. He didn't even flush with embarrassment at Damon's tirade, instead calmly reaching down to scratch George behind the ear.

It hit Harry that Conrad must have lied, or at the very least exaggerated, for him to react with such apathy. Following that was the notion that perhaps Conrad had made his claim as a distraction, to spare Harry the awkwardness. He stared down at his hands, making a mental note to find a way to express his gratitude.

As the clock's hands ticked closer to 10, the heated conversation gradually wore down, and the candidates prepared for bed. Harry dragged himself off his bunk and retrieved his toothbrush and toothpaste. He had just taken his first step toward the sinks when Isaac asked the question.

"What do you suppose our next test will be?"

This query was met with shrugs and more than one "Haven't a clue." Harry stole a glance at the sole empty bed on the opposite side of the room, convinced that he wasn't the only person remembering the last elimination. The news had been broken to Frederick at the end of their long and damp sniping session. Merlin hadn't minced words- "Frederick, you hesitated much too long at every target. A Kingsman agent can't just have good aim- he also needs to think on his feet. Pack your bags and go home."

Frederick, predictably, had tried to throw a fit about this, but Merlin had simply repeated "Go home, Frederick" and dismissed the remaining candidates. Because emphasis placed on the sniping test was fairly mild, Harry was left wondering if an unknown offense was responsible for Frederick's expulsion. He left unspoken the assumption that perhaps his grades were the lowest among the candidates. Merlin had never handed back any of the written assignments, but he had impressed their importance upon everyone.

Harry also thought it best not to voice his overwhelming relief that it hadn't been him.

"Whatever it is, I really wish they'd keep that intern out of it," Nick announced after washing his face "Every time he's around I feel like he's listening in on our conversations."

"Yeah, I don't think we should trust him," Isaac chimed in, getting up from his bunk and stretching out his cramped muscles. "I feel like he's only here to spy on us."

"Thank god he doesn't sleep down here," Terry said darkly, switching off the TV and rising from the couch. "We'd never get a moment's peace with him staring at us all the time."

"How do you know he isn't already?" rumbled John, his presence dominating the room "You can't be sure there isn't a camera hidden behind the clock or inside the TV or something." He swept over to the sinks, easily overtaking Harry. An unwanted shudder rippled through him in John's wake. Over the past month, John had proved the most resistant to friendly advances. The only interactions he seemed to regard fondly were competitive.

"In that case," Harry murmured, "perhaps we'd all better watch what we say." Though with company like this, that was easier said than done.

"Aw, lighten up, Harry," Damon called lazily, still sprawled comfortably on his bed. "What's Merlin going to do? He can't prevent us from speaking our opinions, that'd be like oppressing us."

"If you ask me," Nick said, his eyebrows angled upwards, "I think Merlin's all bark and no bite."

"Even his bark's not very good," Terry muttered. Harry watched himself shrug in the mirror as he slid up to the sinks. "What do you expect from him? None of us have stepped out of line. I think we should be fortunate that the tests have taken no more lives."

Terry's response was accompanied by a derisive eye roll. "Oh sure, look who's talking. You've the big shot- Merlin's got nothing but praise for you."

 _Not my fault if you can't keep up,_ Harry thought, but he knew voicing that snide remark would start an unnecessary argument. Instead he turned on the faucet, wetting his toothbrush.

"For the first time since I've met him, I think I'm inclined to agree with Terry," Damon announced, though he didn't seem pleased with the fact. In the mirror, Harry saw him sit up and swung his legs over the side of his bunk. Beside him, Conrad put his book down.

"Merlin likes us to be afraid of him, but deep down he's harmless," said Damon. "Kind of like this little guy." He reached out to fondly pat Conrad's dog on the head, but George coldly retaliated by nipping him. With a sharp cry, Damon recoiled. "Whoa! Guess I was wrong…"

"Shouldn't that dog be trained by now?" John said, his voice dripping with contempt.

"I _have_ got him trained," Conrad responded nonchalantly. He ran his hand through George's fur. "I trained him to bite."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle around the toothbrush in his mouth, which brought a smile to Conrad's face. The sight delighted Harry. It had taken a few weeks for Conrad to come out of his shell, but with Harry's coaxing his friend was finally starting to open up.

Removing the toothbrush, Harry rinsed his mouth and turned back to the bunks. "I think you should cut Damon some slack," he said airily. "The comparison isn't far-fetched. To begin with, George and Merlin are both Scottish."

John snorted without turning around. "But Merlin's nowhere near as aggressive as that little bugger. Let's face it- our trainer is not as hard on us as he should be."

"Isn't it _better_ that he isn't?" Conrad quietly suggested.

John stiffened, and a harsh light flared in his eyes. "All I'm saying is, he hasn't got any balls."

None were aware of how untrue that statement was, until the next test came along.


	8. Combat

When the candidates returned from breakfast one morning, Harry was intrigued to find that new outfits had been laid out on each bunk. His mind roamed as he inspected them, conjuring up possible purposes. _Black jacket… matching helmet… Some sort of combat gear?_

"Suit up." Harry turned towards the voice to find Ian standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. "Once you're dressed, come with me to the shuttle."

"Where's Merlin?" Nick asked.

"We'll meet him in a moment," Ian said cryptically. "Now let's get going."

Dutifully Harry changed into his combat suit, as did the rest of the candidates. Tucking the helmet under his arm, he allowed Ian to round him up with the others, lead him down the corridor, and herd him onto the shuttle.

The trip didn't last as long as the ride from the tailor shop to HQ, but due to the rapid acceleration Harry found it difficult to discern how far they had traveled. Stepping out of the shuttle yielded little information as to his whereabouts. He was at the bottom of a shaft as deep as the elevator in Fitting Room One, but the floor and the walls were gray concrete.

Once everyone had arrived, Ian activated the mechanism to ascend. Harry stared raptly upwards as the ceiling grew closer and closer, until they were safely on ground level. The candidates shuffled out into the mouth of a corridor, which led towards a pair of closed doors. Before them stood Merlin, an array of guns at his feet.

"Good morning," Merlin greeted the candidates. "Fall in." Harry expected Ian to ignore the command and slip into place at Merlin's side, but to his surprise, Ian fell into attention beside him.

"I'm pleased to see that you've all made it here safely, though you might not leave in the same state." Though the candidates remained respectfully silent, there was a palpable uptick of tension in the room as Merlin continued his briefing. "Today you're going to enter a simulation of actual combat. You'll be separated into groups of four. One group starts at this entrance-" he gestured to the closed doors behind him- "and the other group will take the elevator at the end of this corridor to the floor above." He pointed to his left, indicating the end of the hallway.

"The goal is to make it to the opposite exits without a member of your opposing group taking you out." Merlin bent down and picked up one of the guns, holding it aloft. "Such a victory can be accomplished with these airsoft guns, although there are other weapons in the combat space which I expect you to use wisely." His green eyes swept his audience.

"The first to fall will be eliminated from the program."

Eagerness stirred in Harry despite Merlin's tone. He'd had plenty of practice at the shooting range and in lessons on hand-to-hand combat, but this was the first time he'd been pitted against his fellow trainees. Some friendly competition could serve him well, as his days of playing rugby in secondary had proved.

"When I tell you to fall out," Merlin said, "you will join your designated group, take a gun, and go to your assigned level. You'll have five minutes before the test begins." He lifted a hand to point at each candidate, counting them up. "John, Terry, Conrad, Ian. Fall out. You'll start on the second floor." The men to Harry's right stepped forward to pick up their weapons, and Merlin turned his attention to those remaining.

"Harry, Nick, Damon, Isaac. Fall out. You four start on the first floor."

"This is going to be so _exciting,"_ Damon proclaimed, seeming to shiver with a delicious thrill. He scooped up his gun and grinned into its shiny surface. "I can't wait to see what sort of weapons they've got for us."

"Yeah, yeah, cool your enthusiasm, mate," Nick said, rolling his eyes. "Those weapons could easily be used on _us_ if we're not careful." He picked up a gun, and Harry and Isaac followed suit. Together they made for the doors ahead.

* * *

The silence was tense as Ian rode up in the elevator with his team. He alternated between studying the floor and surreptitiously scoping out his teammates, seeking inner calm. After revealing the test to him, Noel explained right away that no one was actually going to get hurt. The guns only fired airsoft pellets, the blades were dulled, and the only bombs used were smoke bombs and stun grenades. Though the rational side of Ian's mind reassured him of his safety, his body didn't seem to have gotten the memo, if his heart's rapid thudding and involuntary white-knuckled grip on his firearm was anything to go by.

Maybe it was just John's presence. Once he'd entered the elevator, the older man had placed himself at attention. He faced the door expectantly, his head held high. Coupled with Terry, whose eyes glinted like some sort of conniving rat, Ian's unease grew. He wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having to work with these men; they seemed all-too-eager to fight, like powder kegs waiting for a spark. Conrad, on the other hand, had shrunk into the corner. When Ian tried to subtly size him up, their eyes met. Immediately Conrad looked away, his face flushing.

The door opened with a _swoosh,_ and John stepped out immediately, scanning the room for necessary items. Ian took in his surroundings as he exited the elevator. The room was open and bare, a set of windows and the security cameras' red eyes providing the only light. Staring up at the cameras, Ian reminded himself that Noel was watching closely, just as he would during a mission. And this scenario was much safer than an actual mission. _Nobody's going to get hurt. Nobody's going to get hurt…_

Still, Ian didn't fancy being the one observed instead of the observer.

"Hey!" Terry called to his teammates. He'd scurried over to the weapons that lined the walls, and was now staring rapturously at them. "Check out what Merlin gave us to defend ourselves!"

His interest piqued, Ian went to join Terry and John, while Conrad hung back and watched from afar. As soon as Ian got close enough, his eyes widened. "A _chainsaw?"_

 _…there are other weapons in the combat space which I expect you to use wisely._

 _Jesus Christ, Noel…_

Terry's attention moved from the chainsaw to Ian, shooting him a puzzled look, as if he'd never heard him speak before. John remained unmoved, staring at the chainsaw with no sign of emotion in his eyes.

"Excellent," he murmured. "Kingsman says they're not a joke, but they're playing a jokeon _us._ "

"Five minutes!" Noel's voice came booming through the Tannoy system. "Choose your weapons wisely."

"Ah, so it's fair game," Terry brightly remarked, already reaching for a second gun. John turned to the door, and Conrad drifted over to inspect the selection of weapons. Ian took a deep breath, trying to quell the growing tightness in his chest, and patted down his combat suit to make sure it was secure.

* * *

The room that Harry found himself in was immense and entirely free of obstacles. To his right was a large, thin wall with two doorways cut into it. Eerily, the room was bathed in red light, thanks to the distinct presence of security cameras. The only way out, it seemed, was up. A stairwell stood between the two doorways, providing a single chance at freedom.

Suppressing a shiver at the gloomy atmosphere, Harry turned to the wall where Damon, Nick, and Isaac were looting the provided weapons. Damon kept a running commentary- "Grenade, throwing knives… machete? That looks pretty damn lethal for a simulation…"

"There's enough to divide them out among us," Isaac said. "Which of you wants-"

Merlin's voice blared over the Tannoy, startling everyone and driving Isaac to silence. "Five minutes! Choose your weapons wisely."

 _Five minutes…_ A wave of urgency swept through Harry. Five minutes shouldn't be spent divvying up weapons. Five minutes should be spent coming up with a plan to make sure no one on the team would be eliminated.

"We need a strategy," he said, stepping forward.

Damon was the first to respond, spinning to face Harry and cocking his head to the side. "Brilliant idea right there! What are you proposing?"

Though surprised that Damon had listened to him so readily, Harry didn't let himself be deterred. "We've got to get upstairs in order to escape, but the other team wins if they make it out first. Seeing how we've got a door-" he nodded in its direction- "and they've only got the elevator, as far as we know, I'd say one or more of us should stay down here to guard the exit."

Nick turned around, his gun already drawn and poised. "Nice little idea there, but how are we supposed to get everyone out safely if some of us remain downstairs?"

 _Teamwork is EVERYTHING,_ whispered the ghost of Merlin's voice. Harry swallowed, thinking of the mistake he had made on the first day, how he had neglected to act on his impulse. _I'm not letting that happen again_.

"One or two of us could stay posted by the stairs to prevent anyone from coming down," he rapidly suggested. "Guard the stairs, not the door. Prevent them from gaining too much ground. If we can at least keep them on the stairwell, it might make for a better fight."

"Sounds good to me," Isaac said, shouldering his gun.

Nick, however, still didn't seem convinced. "But which of us stay at the bottom?"

Harry was tempted to tell Nick to just draw straws, but he knew there wasn't any time (nor were there any straws). "You and Isaac can stay at the bottom. Damon and I will go on ahead." It seemed like a logical pairing to him- Nick would resent being stuck with Damon, and Isaac was agreeable enough to be placed anywhere. Damon was too unpredictable to want to stay at the bottom; he'd eventually charge ahead and ruin the entire plan.

It didn't ever occur to Harry that he could be anywhere other than front and center.

"Are you with me?" he asked, and the others nodded, just as Merlin's voice sounded overhead- "You're free to begin!"

* * *

At the sound of Noel's call, Terry let out a wild whoop. "YES! Let's get 'em!" He snatched up his gun while Ian cursorily inspected his. Instead of the cold comfort that holding a weapon usually brought, Ian felt his hands shake against the trigger. A surge of heated anger washed through him. _Stop it. This is no big deal, it's just a simulation_. For goodness sakes, he'd been trained to handle situations like this, why was this happening _now_ …

"I think we sh-" Conrad started to say, but his words were lost as Terry immediately ran through the open door, John hot on his heels. As no other course of action had been identified, Ian had no choice but to follow them. He slunk to the doorway, keeping his senses alert for the other team's presence and trying to ignore the pace of his beating heart.

Outside the door was a long metal walkway, where several more weapons were scattered. However, they paled in comparison to the walkway's enormous centerpiece, which claimed all of Ian's attention.

"What the _fuck?"_ he muttered.

Terry and John had halted, staring at the massive rock that all but blocked the entrance onto the stairwell. Its presence alone was incongruous with the setting, but when Ian spotted the sword hilt jutting out, he wasn't sure if he wanted to bury his face in his hands or applaud his uncle. _Very clever, MERLIN. Very clever._

"Is that a _sword_ in a _stone?"_ John exclaimed, cluing in shortly after Ian. Beside him, Terry burst into wicked laughter. He ran up to it and firmly grabbed the hilt, giving it a tug.

"Ugh… it won't come loose…"

"Of course it won't come loose, it's stuck in a fucking _rock!_ " John snapped. But Terry refused to give up. "Come on! Help me out, mate!" He braced himself with his foot, pulling on the sword with both hands.

"We need to keep moving," Ian said, hoping that his agitation wasn't evident in his voice. "We need to get to the downstairs exit…"

"Do you even know how to use that thing?" came Conrad's skeptical voice from behind Ian.

"Hey, it was- left here- for a reason," Terry grunted as he continued his attempt to wrest the sword free. "Merlin said- he expects us to use- everything…"

"Just leave it, Terry," John said, exasperated. "It's not wor-"

His admonishment was cut short as Terry triumphantly extracted the sword, toppling backwards with it in hand. He leapt to his feet, grinning wildly and waving it in the air.

"Well, King Arthur," Noel commented for all to hear. "Color _me_ impressed."

But before Terry could put the sword to any use, a series of rapid-fire shots sounded from the other end of the walkway. Ian instantly dropped to his knees and crawled to the stone, peering out from behind it to see who had fired. Harry was aiming from behind the doorframe, his gun trained on Terry, with Damon right behind him. Airsoft pellets littered the floor around Terry's feet.

"That's a direct hit," Noel announced. "Terry, you're out."

"SHIT!" Terry shouted, slamming his gun and the sword to the ground. _"SHIT!"_

"Everyone, get behind the stone!" John ordered. He crouched down, shoving Ian out of his way. They huddled up, watching the other end of the walkway closely.

"What, you're not going to come and fight us face to face like real men?" Damon taunted from behind Harry. He kept the barrel of his gun trained directly at the stone, even though John and Ian were safe behind it.

"Fuck you!" John shot back. "I don't need to prove myself to you!"

"We're not going to make any progress if none of us move forward!" Harry said, and Ian found himself nodding. _Good point._

"Therefore, we challenge _you_ to take the first steps,"Damon slyly added.

Quickly Ian tried to rack his brain for a solution, a way to move forward. Trading insults wasn't productive; action was. Action kept his mind clear and prevented him from dwelling too hard on his situation. If he could get a clear shot at Harry or Damon… Ian lifted his gun and peered through the sights, steadying himself.

However, before he could take action, John made his move. "Challenge?" he hissed, reaching out to swipe a nearby weapon. Ian couldn't make out which one John had grabbed before he sprang to his feet. "I'll give _you_ a challenge!"

Damon and Harry crept out of hiding, guns poised. But John was faster. Racing forward, he hurled the unknown object at their feet. It went off in an explosion of noise and light, and Ian ducked back behind the stone, realizing what it was. A flashbang.

* * *

As soon as John threw his weapon into the stairwell, Harry reacted without thinking, grabbing Damon by the arm and shoving him behind his body. _"GRENADE-!"_ He leapt forward, just as the world exploded.

The walls didn't tremble and the floor stayed intact, but light seared Harry's eyes, and his ears burst. He landed awkwardly on his side, his gun slipping from his grasp as he reached instinctively to cover his ears, forgetting his helmet's presence. All he could see was a blinding brightness, no matter how hard he blinked to clear his vision.

Through the deafening roar in his ears, Harry dimly felt rather than heard approaching footsteps. He fumbled weakly for his gun, but the owner of the footsteps aimed a kick at his back, jolting him. Shaking his head violently in an attempt to clear both his vision and hearing, Harry rolled over, pressing his palms against the solid floor to brace himself.

" _Damon!"_ he shouted, pushing himself into a sitting position and grabbing his gun. " _ISAAC_ -"

At the edges of his vision, Harry could just barely see one tall figure leaning over another, huddled in the corner of the stairs. He raised his gun, but quickly thought the better of it- with his vision impaired, there was no way to tell if he was aiming at a teammate or an enemy. Though it didn't take long for him to figure out their identities. The huddled figure emitted a shocked, high-pitched cry as the taller figure struck him across the helmet with the butt of his gun.

"That's for all your insults, you little fucker-" growled John, and Damon curled up, trying to protect himself.

 _Why isn't he fighting back?_ Harry started to rise, summoning his sense of balance to go help Damon, but someone entering the stairwell pushed him aside. Before he could get past the stairs, Harry lunged, sending the man- Ian, he judged from his build- sprawling face first. They wrestled, but Ian eluded Harry's grip, like a slippery fish. He sprang to his feet and hightailed it down the stairs, and Harry swore. There was nothing to do now but attempt to take John out and hope that Isaac or Nick would take care of Ian.

* * *

Ian ran. As soon as he had gotten down the stairs, he pelted madly across the floor,. _Forget Harry, forget Damon... Just get to the exit. Get to the exit…_

"YAH!" someone shouted, disturbingly close to Ian's ear. A second later a pair of arms locked around Ian in a bear-hug, knocking him to the floor.

Ian struggled, but the man who had tackled him held on tight, his arms constricting around Ian's chest, leaving him gasping for air. _No one's SUPPOSED to get hurt!_ Desperately Ian managed to roll himself onto his back, kicking frantically. "Let _go-_ I can't _breathe-"_

"Too bad," sneered a voice in his ear- Nick's voice. "That's the price you pay in combat, my friend." His grip tightened, and frantically Ian latched onto the first idea that came to mind. He played dead. It was difficult to relax when every nerve was screaming at him- _get away he's hurting you get away-_ but purging all thoughts from his mind, Ian went limp. He forced himself not to react as his head lolled forward, slamming into the concrete.

Just as Ian had hoped, Nick was caught off-guard. His grip relaxed, giving Ian the moment he needed to escape. He scrambled to his feet and trained his gun at Nick's head.

"Bang," he said, pulling the trigger several times. Pellets rained down on Nick, and he groaned.

"Nick," came Noel's calm voice. "You're out."

* * *

In the stairwell, Harry's vision had slowly returned, but his ears still rang like church bells. John seemed to have thrown all self-control to the wind. He hauled Damon to his feet and slammed him against the wall, swearing at him. It became clear to Harry that he wasn't trying to win, he was just trying to punish Damon for making a mockery of him. Otherwise he would have pulled the trigger on his gun long ago. From behind, Harry tried to take aim, but John hugged Damon to his chest, pressing his back against the wall.

"What are you going to do, shoot me?" he yelled, berserk. "You won't shoot while I've got ahold of your teammate!"

Damon slumped loosely in John's grip, not bothering to fight back. Confusion filled Harry at the sight. Of all the candidates, he'd most expected Damon to go out kicking and screaming. Had the grenade affected him that badly?

 _We've got to give up some ground._ It was a mad idea, but it was the only way Harry could imagine getting a good shot at John. He backed up- only to run right into Isaac.

"Get out of the way," Isaac said firmly, pushing Harry to the side. Harry gladly did as he was told, stepping back to let Isaac take careful aim at John's head. Over and over he fired his gun.

"John, you're out," Merlin said, mild annoyance coloring his voice. "Let go of Damon. Dead men don't throw punches."

"What?!" John shouted, but he did let go of Damon, who stumbled weakly forward. Harry run up to support him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"That means there are no more obstacles on the stairs," he said to Damon and Isaac. "Damon, can you hear me?"

Damon nodded, pulling away from Harry to lean against the wall. "Not very well, sorry…"

"Stay close to me," Harry said, offering his arm. Damon leaned over and linked arms with him.

"What about the intern?" Isaac said. "And we can't leave without Nick."

"Nick is out," Merlin spoke up.

Harry shrugged. "We've got two of their team already. It doesn't matter if one of them escapes, because we outnumber them! Let's go!"

Weakly Damon fist-pumped the air. "Lead the way, mate!"

They struggled up the stairs to the walkway, supporting each other the whole way.

Downstairs, Nick sullenly backed off, heading to the wall to await the simulation's end. Ian didn't notice his exit. He stepped back, breathing hard, and tried to collect himself. Pressing his fingers against the helmet, one thought reigned dominant in Ian- _air_. _I need air. Get out of here. Get to the door…_

 _The door!_ His head whipped over to stare at it, a beautiful promise of exit and freedom. He had to make it there! He hadn't been eliminated, after all- there was still a chance his team could win! But when Ian stepped forward, the room seemed to spin around him.

 _What? I wasn't injured-_

Then he realized that the tightness in his chest had multiplied, as if Nick was still hugging him in a vice grip. He gasped, clenching his fists in frustration. Goddammit, not _now._ Not _anytime._ He had to… get to the door…

Ian took a few clumsy steps forward, casting one hand out to reach for the door. All the while his senses were on highest alert. He was distinctly aware of the red light scouring his eyes, of how painfully far the door was, of his harsh breathing, which sounded so _loud_ now that no one else was around…

And then a hand clapped his back. Ian nearly jumped out of his skin. He jerked his head up to see John, towering above him and scowling. "Come on, time to get out." He all but yanked Ian along, pulling him towards the door and out of the room.

As soon as the soft light hit Ian's eyes, his entire body went limp with relief. He tried his best to remain composed as the aching tightness in his chest slowly dissipated, leaving him free to breathe at last.

* * *

Upon reaching the room at the end of the hall, a thick, swirling fog assaulted Damon, Harry, and Isaac. Within it, the contents of the room were impossible to make out.

"They left a smokescreen for us!" Isaac burst out, simultaneously surprised and impressed. "Who's still around?"

"John and Terry are out… and Ian-" At once it came to Harry, and he breathed the name in a knowing whisper. _"Conrad."_

Hesitantly he shuffled into the room, one hand in front of him to feel his way forward, while his other hand clutched Damon's shoulder. However, Damon soon let go of Harry and veered off in another direction. He was gone in an instant, vanishing into the smoke.

"Search for the exit!" Isaac called, his voice sounding strangely far away. "We've got to find a safe way to get out!"

"Then maybe we should stick _toge-"_ Harry began peevishly- but a sudden cry of pain interrupted him. The voice that split the air didn't sound like any of the members of his group.

"HEY! Don't hit a man with glasses!"

 _"Conrad!"_ Damon cried. A second later a shot rang out, followed by an _"oof"_ and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

"Damon, you're out," Merlin announced.

"Damn, how can you even _see_ me?" Damon gasped breathlessly. "Ouch… that one hurt."

"We've still got to find the exit!" Harry hissed. The idea of aiming at an invisible target hurt his brain. He knew that speaking would only make it easier for Conrad to find him, but he needed to alert Isaac to his whereabouts.

"Well, _I_ found a chainsaw!" Isaac called back, sounding just as pleased as he was bemused. "Maybe we could _saw_ our way out of here!"

"No," Damon declared from his unseen spot on the floor. "We should jump out the window."

"You're _out_ , Damon," Merlin repeated, a note of testiness in his voice. "Corpses don't get to make important decisions."

Harry's hand abruptly ran into hard metal. He released a long sigh and felt around until he touched the distinctive button.

"…is anyone forgetting _there's an elevator?"_

With pride swelling in his heart, Harry stabbed the button- only for nothing to happen.

"Elevator's stuck," Merlin said. "You'll have to find another exit."

"On _purpose?"_ Isaac moaned, and this time his voice was much closer to Harry. "Haven't we had enough of crazy escapes-"

His sentence came to an end as he walked right into Harry. Harry jolted back, startled but pleased to see the last remaining member of his team.

"Windows it is, then," he murmured into Isaac's ear. "Stay close and don't take your eyes off me, no matter what."

"We should hold onto each other," Isaac whispered back. "To keep from being separated." He held out his hand, which Harry took.

Slowly they made their way towards the wall, keeping eyes and ears open for any sign of Conrad. But not even the sound of breathing reached them. Harry wondered if perhaps he'd left the room, preferring to make a stealthy exit and leave the other team to their fate.

Finally, they reached the wall, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he touched the window's glass. He undid the latch, pushed the window open, and then followed up with the screen. Below, through the quickly-clearing haze of smoke, he could see a gentle green slope, and beyond that, a rolling meadow. Just a short drop, and then they'd be free…

Suddenly a hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he froze along with Isaac. Had Conrad-? But the tenor voice that followed assuaged their doubts.

"Let me show you how it's done," Damon breathed, nearly trembling with excitement. He boldly ignored Merlin's shout of _"DAMON"_ and hoisted himself up onto the window, leaping out with the grace of a ballet dancer. A wild, joyous cry escaped him as he fell. He tucked his shoulder underneath him as he hit the ground, then rolled to his feet, laughing cheerfully.

"Oh, god, that was _amazing."_ Still laughing, Damon waved to Isaac and Harry. "Come on down, boys!"

Silently Isaac and Harry exchanged glances, but they followed suit, copying Damon's moves. Soon all were on the ground together, gazing up at the window they had just jumped from and blinking in the sunlight.

"That was great," Damon said blissfully. "I've _never_ had that much fun."

"I wonder who won," Harry murmured.

"You're about to find out," a new voice called. Harry looked over to see Merlin standing at a nearby exit, holding the door open.

"Come along," Merlin said, and Harry, Isaac, and Damon obeyed.


	9. Conflict

By the time Noel arrived to check the status of everyone who had escaped from the downstairs exit, Ian had recovered himself. His hands no longer shook, his heart no longer raced, and he no longer felt like he was about to pass out just trying to reach the door. No one but John and maybe Nick had seen him in his vulnerable state, and neither seemed to care enough to mention it.

All the same, Ian was thoroughly ashamed of himself.

Following Noel were Harry, Damon, and Isaac. They went to join the rest of the candidates, while Noel went to Ian's side without a word. Glancing at his face, Ian noticed that something seemed different about Noel. A chill had pierced his perpetual calm, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed a fraction.

"Fall in," Noel said, and Ian started for the group before Noel tapped him on the shoulder. " _Not you."_ Though quiet, his voice held the slightest tremor, as if suppressing intense emotion.

The candidates lined up and stood at attention, and Noel surveyed them before speaking.

"Congratulations. The majority of you have passed the test." Noel's words were mechanical, quite different from his regular range of emotion. _What on earth upset him so much?_

"Harry, good job on coming up with a strategy for your team to follow. That's exactly the kind of teamwork-oriented, quick-thinking skills we need at Kingsman. Conrad, your use of the smokescreen with multiple bombs was ingenious." Conrad's dark eyes glowed beneath his glasses, and Harry's lips twitched in the hint of a smile.

 _But,_ Ian thought. _The MAJORITY of you have passed the test._ A bombshell was about to drop. Noel took a deep breath and continued his evaluation, his voice growing harsher and his accent stronger the more he spoke.

"However, two of you won't be moving any further in this program." Noel's eyes settled on Terry, his face a hard-edged mask. "Terry, congratulations on taking the sword from the stone, but you were too reckless. You didn't bother to think over your actions, you just went for it without any kind of plan. In actual combat, you would have been the first person killed. Pack your bags and go home."

There was a quick flash of fire in Terry's eyes, but he didn't argue. He nodded once before falling out of formation and walking away, leaving a space in the middle of the lineup.

Noel paced in front of the candidates for a moment, finally stopping in front of John. John met Noel's level gaze, wordlessly daring him to go on.

"John," Noel said at last, weariness saturating his voice. "Good work at creating a diversion, but you went too far. You let your emotions get the best of you. In actual combat, such a mistake can be deadly. Go home."

John's face hardened into a murderous expression. He stepped uncomfortably close to Noel, jabbing his finger into Noel's chest.

"You know I don't deserve that," he said, not bothering to disguise the fury in his voice. "I'm ten times more qualified than any of this pathetic bunch."

Noel only stared unflinchingly at John before stepping away. "Please don't argue. Go home, John."

"You think I'm afraid of you?" John sneered. Again he stepped forward, raising his fist. "I could knock you out right now, old man. Don't think I'll hesitate."

He aimed to punch Noel, but before his fist connected, Noel's hand shot out. He grabbed John's arm and twisted it around his back. John lashed out with his other fist, but Noel forced him down, causing John to hunch over. He leaned in, his lips close to John's ear.

"Oh, like you tried to knock out Damon?" Derision filled Noel's words. "You heard what I said, John. _Go home."_ The tremor in his voice was more evident now, and a sense of unease came over Ian. He'd never seen Noel express any emotion other than joking, cool-headedness, or slight annoyance. An explosion was coming- and Ian wasn't sure he wanted to be around when it happened.

Noel let go of John, who stalked off to the shuttle with a look of disgust on his face. Noel stepped back, not bothering to give John a second glance.

"The rest of you can go back to the barracks," he said to the remaining candidates. "Except for Damon. I want to talk to you. Fall out."

 _Aha._ Ian's mind lit up. So Damon was the one troubling Noel. As the rest of the men left, Damon shifted his weight, confusion wrought across his face. Noel beckoned him forward, and reluctantly Damon obliged.

"Yes, sir?"

Noel didn't look at Damon at first. His eyes were on the rest of the candidates, watching as they made their way back to the elevator. Ian wondered why he hadn't been dismissed along with them- did Noel have a lesson in store for him?

When the rest of the candidates had disappeared, Noel lay his hand on Damon's shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. "Why did you say that today's test was 'fun?'"

Damon opened his mouth, only to close it awkwardly. A second later he opened it again and began a faltering speech. "Well… it's fun, you see, the whole idea of running around firing at your enemies, and having them fire at you… I mean, it's not fun when they _hit_ you but it's all very thrilling, really, to have to escape them and… all that…"

Noel let go of Damon's shoulder. He stepped back, his face wreathed in an unfamiliar mixture of emotion that seemed equal parts bitter disappointment and deeply-suppressed anger.

"Why were you laughing when you jumped out the window?" he asked.

Damon gave a shrug. "Haven't I already answered that? I was having-"

"On an _actual_ mission, being shot would not constitute _fun_ ," Noel cut Damon off. His voice rose to the loudest tone Ian had ever heard from him. "You wouldn't even be _fit_ to jump out a window. You could be _dead._ You have enormous potential, but if you're just going to treat my program like a game, then you don't deserve to belong in it."

Damon's eyes grew wide. "No, Merlin, please, I never thought-"

"Of _course_ you never thought," Noel seethed, his anger scorching the air. "You rarely seem to consider the consequences that your attitude might have in the real world. If you were to keep up this mindset, you wouldn't last a _week_ in Kingsman."

He suddenly bent down and began to roll up the left leg of his trousers. Damon raised an eyebrow, becoming the picture of confusion, and Ian couldn't help but stare too. What was Noel doing…?

Noel pushed his trouser leg up to his knee, and Ian's blood ran cold, shock spiraling through his system. Instead of flesh, Noel's left leg was made of smooth, hairless plastic.

"You think I was _laughing_ when the grenade that took my leg out went off?" Noel said, very quietly. "That being stuck in the hospital for months was the time of my life? No, all I could think about as I sat there in bed was how _lucky_ I was. And how gratefulI was to Kingsman. They gave me a second chance and a new lease on life. Without them, I would have faded away." He shook his head and looked away from Damon, staring upwards as if the events of the past were playing out on the ceiling.

"Kingsman _made_ me who I am today- and I can't ask for anything more. I won't stand to have you treat this organization with anything less than respect, and that includes taking our training program more seriously than some after-school program your parents dumped you off at to make a point." Noel eyed Damon with a piercing green stare, imbuing each word with weight. "Life can take you by surprise. It will not make concessions for you. In order to fully understand that you must treat it as seriously as it treats you, not as a child's game of make-believe."

Noel paused for a moment, catching his breath. The blood had drained from Damon's face, and he stared at Noel as if waiting for a poisonous snake to strike.

"Have you got that?" Noel asked, still quiet, and Damon nodded. " _Yes,_ Merlin."

"Good." Noel's tone became neutral once more. "You're dismissed."

Damon immediately headed off, and, after releasing a sigh, Noel followed, leaving Ian dumbfounded in his wake.

* * *

No sooner had the remaining four candidates huddled into the shuttle together that questions and assumptions began to fly. Nick prodded Harry's side. "What in the world did Damon _do?"_

Harry could only reply with a muddled frown. "I'm not sure exactly." Mentally, he ran through the last stage of the combat simulation, trying to pinpoint exactly what behavior could be grounds for a private talk with Merlin. Was it because Damon had refused to stay "dead" after Conrad shot him? Because he'd been the first to jump out the window?

"What he did isn't what's important," Isaac announced. "I just want to know what Merlin's going to say to him."

 _All bark and no bite,_ Harry thought, casting a sideways glance at Nick. After the cold way that Merlin had physically handled John, he sensed that such a description was inaccurate.

By the time Harry, Isaac, Nick, and Conrad returned to the barracks, Terry and John had already packed up and left. A short while later, Harry looked up from the TV as the door opened, revealing an uncharacteristically meek Damon. His sly grin was missing, and his face was paler than usual.

"Harry," he said, raising the attention of every man in the room. "Can I- can I talk to you outside?"

His brow knitting in confusion, Harry hit the mute button on the TV remote and carefully disengaged Mr. Pickle from his lap. Damon held the door open as Harry exited, feeling the stares of the candidates behind him. An unpleasant sensation grew in his stomach. Had _he_ done something wrong? Then why hadn't Merlin called him to stay behind…

Out in the corridor, Damon scanned both directions to make sure no one was around before turning to face Harry and expelling a sigh. His fingers twisted together, knuckles clenching. "Merlin's an amputee."

"…What?"

"He's an amputee," Damon repeated, his blue eyes wide. "He showed me his prosthetic leg. God, I feel so… so _awful_ now. I'd no idea he was… he would…"

"What did he _say_ to you, Damon?" Harry cut in.

Again Damon sighed, releasing his hands and letting them drop to his sides. "Um, he called me out for not taking training seriously. Which… I guess I wasn't, I mean in his eyes… God." Tiredly he pressed his palm against his cheek, his fingers massaging his temple. "I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have…"

Harry hesitated before speaking again. As obnoxious as he found Damon, there was something in the man's eyes that begged for his attention. When Damon remained silent, he said, "Why are you telling _me_ about this?"

"Why not?" Damon blinked, looking Harry straight in the eye. "You're my friend, of course I want to tell you."

 _Friend._ The word spun through Harry's brain. He'd never considered Damon as such… but he had never considered how Damon might regard him.

"But you can't breathe a word of this to anyone else," Damon insisted in a hushed voice. He touched Harry's shoulder, not breaking eye contact. "If Merlin found out I told you - I'm afraid I wouldn't make it much further. And I really, _really_ want to stay in this program, for as long as possible. As long as it takes."

Harry stared at Damon for a few seconds, and then gently shrugged off his touch, stepping away. "You're going to become the next Galahad?"

Damon shrugged, though Harry could see in his eyes just how seriously he took the competition. "Hey, may the best man win. I just d- I can't- I'm _not_ going to go _back."_

He stared at Harry until realization sunk in, followed by a wave of understanding.

 _So what have you been up to since then?_

 _Oh, let's not talk about MY life. It's all been a load of bullshit… Stupid parents thought they could dump me off on him…_

Of course being shot at and jumping out windows was the most fun Damon had ever had. Compared to his regular life, it must be a picnic. Harry wasn't personally familiar with Damon's upbringing, but he knew all about families who thought of their sons as a disappointment. Reasons may vary, but the sentiment remained.

He could think of nothing to do but clap Damon sympathetically on the shoulder. "I know. Neither am I."

Of course, Harry's life wouldn't end were Kingsman to expel him. He had graduated from a prestigious school with a well-regarded degree, and had plenty of support from sources outside his family. But Damon presumably lacked such support. Compassion swelled to the forefront of Harry's mind.

"Thanks, Harry," Damon murmured, moving away from Harry's touch. Remnants of his warm tones began to return. "Glad we could talk. I think I'll head to the showers. Could go for one after the exercise we've had today."

"You're welcome," Harry replied, stepping aside so Damon could leave. "Would you like any company? Later, of course, not in the shower."

Damon's laughter traveled down the corridor, tickling Harry's ears. "Oh, you _wish_ you could touch this."

Harry rolled his eyes as he reentered the barracks, but somehow Damon's teasing didn't bother him at all.

* * *

Ian was only vaguely surprised to find Noel's workstation empty when he returned to HQ. He'd made the trip back on his own, ostensibly in order to clear out the warehouse, but also sensing that Noel would prefer privacy. After dropping off the weapons he'd collected, Ian took the lift up, knowing that there were only two places at Kingsman HQ where Noel would choose to sequester himself.

However, just has his hand landed on the doorknob to Noel's office, Ian hesitated for a long moment. Confused thoughts swirled through his head, along with the image of Noel's prosthetic that had haunted him the entire trip back.

What was Ian supposed to say when he entered? Should he ask Noel about the prosthetic and how he had gained it? Should he wait for Noel to introduce the matter on his own? Or should he just walk in and act like nothing had changed, like he hadn't just discovered that the uncle he'd been working and living with for countless months was an amputee?

Finally, Ian decided it was best to ask straightaway. _Just to get it over with_. He took a deep breath and turned the doorknob, slipping into the office.

Inside, Noel sat at the table, hunched over some tech project. He didn't look up as Ian entered, but Delilah did, dropping the toy she was chewing on and raising her head to track Ian's movements. Ian approached the table and knelt down to give Delilah a friendly scratch behind the ears before pulling up a chair to sit opposite Noel. It was only then that Noel looked up, setting aside his project to fix Ian with a deep stare.

"Merlin," Ian breathed, wishing he'd had the time to collect his words. Nothing that sprang to mind felt adequate to voice. Noel waited, his expression inscrutable, his hands still.

Ian took a breath and amended his opening. "Noel. I'm sorry. I had no idea that-"

"Then I succeeded in protecting you," Noel interrupted. He reached out and picked up the wire he had been fiddling with, spinning it between two fingers. "I doubt even your mother knows that I lost my leg. That was the way I wished it. I didn't want anyone to worry and try to get involved where they knew nothing." Gradually his voice grew softer. "I appreciate your condolences, but I've lived this way for over twenty years. The past, shall we say, has passed."

 _Over twenty years…_ Try as he might to ignore it, a chill ran through Ian. _He's been an amputee longer than I've been alive…_

 _Screw "protecting me." He should have told me sooner. I could have helped…_

But Noel wouldn't have needed or accepted the help. He'd put aside his past, and Ian couldn't dare to pry any further.

In the brief silence that filled the room, Ian contemplated what sort of mission Noel had been on that had resulted in such a tragic loss. However, he knew that he wasn't likely to get another word out of Noel on the subject. He watched as Noel rose from his seat, trying not to pay too much attention to his movements.

"Meanwhile, the present holds precedence." Noel went over to his monitor and tapped at the keyboard, bringing up camera footage "And what's _in_ the present is your performance during the combat test. Would you like to review the footage?"

Ian stared blankly at the monitor, his stomach starting to churn. The sour heat of shame slowly washed over him, scouring through his chest. _Are you kidding me?_ To see his own actions onscreen would serve as a painful reminder that he hadn't been able to complete the simulation, even without any obstacles…

But as Noel waited for an answer, Ian realized that he couldn't spend the rest of his life shying away from embarrassment. If he ever wanted to grow out of this tendency towards panic, he had better try to normalize it.

"Sure." Ian got up and walked over to the monitor just as Noel began to play the footage. He watched a small, black-and-white version of himself shoot out enemies from behind a stone, slip right through their fingers on the stairwell, and successfully gain the upper hand in a one-on-one attack, casually finishing off his opponent.

He forced himself not to look away as a wave of panic then struck his video self. The change was visible- his movements became slower and less aware, and his stance grew rigid as he shut down into himself. It was almost a relief to watch John swoop in and drag him off to the door.

"You handled your weapons excellently," Noel commented when the footage had ended. "Though your final performance leaves something to be desired."

"I know," Ian murmured, suddenly overcome with the sense of failure. He turned away from the monitor and ran his fingers through his hair. God, _seeing_ it was almost as bad as having to live it. "I know, N… Merlin, and… I'm sorry. I'm know I'm supposed to be good at this-" _I know I failed your expectations-_

"Good?" Noel repeated. "Do you think I was good when I first started out? We've only been training for three months. You have enough time to improve your performance."

Ian shook his head, staring down at his hands. "I just thought… I've been working so hard. I've been studying every night I can, and I just thought that maybe, by now…"

"Don't forget, Ian, that combat skills are secondary to Merlin's role as handler and supervisor," Noel said, with such quiet intensity that Ian looked up to meet his eyes. "I know how difficult today's test must have been, but you handled your fears well. You should be proud you've made it so far. The more you work at overcoming your fear, the more well-rounded you will become. And then… you'll be 'good.'"

Ian dropped his gaze to the floor, the thudding of his heart slowly ebbing. _I handled my fears well…_ He wanted to gather Noel's words together like a bouquet and cradle them close to his chest. _I did WELL today._ He wasn't sure if he was clinging to the thought because he wanted to believe it, or because he truly did believe it, but it was still comforting to hear.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and Noel nodded. He gently motioned Ian out the way and sat down, rewinding the footage. As if he'd sat there all his life…

The notion of privacy occurred to Ian, but he decided that just this once he was allowed to ask.

"Merlin, what was your original codename?"

In the screen's reflection, Noel wore a grim smile. "I didn't have one."

He paused the footage. The next words he spoke went straight to Ian's heart.

"I never planned to become Merlin. The least I can do is give you a choice."


	10. Drop Zone

_August 1982_

Higher and higher the plane climbed, sailing through a blue sky past clouds tinged with gold. Within the plane sat six men, garbed in insulated jumpsuits, anticipating the coming drop. Most were grinning wildly, hardly able to sit still, but a few sat motionless, tightly gripping their hands, shoulders tense.

Though Ian presented a blank face to the candidates, he was feeling the nerves more, as loathe as he was to acknowledge the fact. He focused his gaze on his lap, hoping that his breathing only sounded loud in his head, and that no one else could hear him over the radio system. _There's nothing to worry about. It's just skydiving. Tons of other people have done it before._ Unlike the candidates, Ian had nothing at stake. Before the test, Noel had made sure to inform him that the only potential danger existed within the candidates' minds.

"Each man will have a parachute," Ian recalled Noel saying. "The trick is to make them think that one of them _doesn't._ Coping with the unexpected is an important quality at Kingsman."

"Won't it be ruined for me now that I know the secret?" Ian had said. "Doesn't sound like the most effective learning experience."

"I'm not going to send you out there thinking I might have screwed _you_ over," Noel said, a touch of vague displeasure in his voice. "Just gain some acting skills, and you'll be fine."

Noel didn't realize just how easily acting came to Ian. He was ready to play his part as the clueless recruit who knew no more than the others. But he still didn't relish the idea of jumping out of a plane from thousands of feet in the air. A solo jump might have proved more comfortable, but descending alongside five hysterical, panicking candidates didn't sound like a good time. However, when Ian considered backing out- just staying on the plane and forgetting the rest of the test- he heard Noel's voice in his head.

 _The more you work at overcoming your fear, the more well-rounded you will become. And then you'll be good._

 _You'll be good,_ Ian whispered to himself in his mind. _You'll be good._ Just a few more tests, and then Ian would be free to pursue his interests within the organization. The day couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

"Drop zone coming up in thirty seconds."

As soon as Merlin's voice sounded in Harry's ears, a thrill of exhilaration shocked him from head to toe. He nudged Damon, who gleefully nudged him right back. "You ready to go, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry responded with a wide smile. "Let's do this." He'd been ready since the announcement of the test that morning. As he'd suited up and clambered onto the plane, all he could picture was the upcoming drop. The higher the plane climbed, the higher his spirits mounted.

One by one, the candidates rose from their seats and filed into lines of three. A rush of cool air swept through the plane as the back exit opened, and Harry trembled with excitement. The two men ahead of Harry made the jump, the white, wispy clouds swallowing them whole. Stepping up, Harry savored the view of the blue sky stretching out endlessly before him. Wind nipped at him, but its chill was unable to penetrate the HALO suit.

 _Can this be real? Am I really about to do this?_ Just a few months ago, Harry hadn't dared to imagine a future so bright. But now, with a touch of fate and a lot of training, he was ready for the challenges the world had in store for him. He was still Harry Hart, but a better man than ever before.

He filled his lungs with a deep breath and stepped off, plunging into space.

At first the speed of acceleration was overwhelming, driving all awareness from Harry's mind as he broke through the clouds. Then the ground below came into view, eliciting a sharp gasp. This high in the sky, the earth's surface was nothing more than a patchwork of brown and green. Tiny white boxes dotted the landscape, so small that Harry imagined he could crush them with his finger. He was unable to make out any human life. They had faded into insignificance, turning the Earth into an unpopulated wasteland.

Harry's eyes widened, and his smile stretched until he felt his face was going to split apart. Plenty of times he'd dreamed of flying, but he should have guessed that nothing could compare to the real thing. Here in freefall, the concept of time faded into a distant memory. Adrenaline pumped through Harry's system, his mind alight with wonder.

He had never felt more alive.

* * *

Ian was the last to leave the plane. He tumbled haphazardly, head over heels, as the plane overhead shrunk to a blip in the sky.

Predictably, his heart was pounding like a rabbit's. He was acutely conscious of his lack of support. The closest surface was miles below. Nothing but a flimsy stretch of fabric prevented Ian from splattering like a bug stamped across the pavement.

 _"Stop_ it," Ian muttered, shaking his head. _That line of thinking will do you no good_. He flipped himself over onto his stomach, joining the formation of candidates below.

A series of whoops and cheers rocketed through Ian's radio, a jubilant greeting. All of the candidates were ecstatic, as carefree as could be. Gazing from face to smiling face, Ian's nerves dissolved. For once, no one was avoiding him or refusing to speak to him. No one was putting on self-centered airs. They were all one and the same, six young men falling through space, connected by a single experience. A few of the candidates spun themselves around in the air, while others simply spread out their arms to enjoy the sensation of freefall. For a few seconds, Ian forgot himself, a small smile creeping up on his face as he watched the cheerful display.

Then Noel's voice carried through the radio. "Well, wasn't that easy? Perhaps a bit _too_ easy."

Ian shut his eyes, preparing himself for the shock. Calmly, Noel continued-

"A Kingsman must be ready for unforeseen circumstances. For example… when one member of your party hasn't got a parachute."

Even though Noel had let him in on the secret, a cold sweat broke out over Ian's skin. The inevitable shouting began.

"What's he saying? One of us…"

"Oh, _fuck!"_

"He can't be serious. He can't…"

"I can be," Noel said. "Just aim for the target, and you'll pass the test. Good luck."

Ian's eyes snapped open, to find five distressed faces staring back at him. He hurriedly composed his features to mirror them. Given the unease pulsing in the back of his mind, it wasn't a big stretch.

"Everyone, stay calm!" a voice rang out, momentarily silencing the candidates. "We need a plan!"

 _Harry Hart._ Ian didn't find it surprising that he'd spoken first. When reviewing footage of the combat simulation, he'd noticed that Harry took the lead during that test as well.

 _The real question is, what kind of plan will he come up with?_

"Like what?" Nick yelled back, the doubt in his voice barely masking his fear.

"Aren't there six of us?" Harry's eyes darted rapidly between them, confirming his count. "I say we pair up!"

"I get it!" exclaimed Damon, relief coloring his voice. "So whoever's missing a parachute can hold onto the person who's got one!"

Now that the plan had been established, an aura of calm settled across the group. Damon instantly took hold of Harry's hands, while Conrad reached for Isaac. Ian turned to Nick, but startled when a cry of suspicion cut through the air.

"Hey! He's not one of us!" Nick slapped Ian's shoulder. "He'sgot to be in on this! There's no fucking way Merlin would kill his own _intern!"_

 _Or his own nephew…_ Ian shook his head, uncomfortable with the malicious look in Nick's eye. "Trust me, I don't know any more than you do!"

"Come on!" Nick insisted. "Pull your cord. _Prove_ to us that you've got a parachute."

Desperately Ian searched the ground for the target. "I'm not going to do that! We're too high-"

His words broke off into a short yelp as Nick, without warning, yanked the cord on his parachute. One jolt of motion jerked Ian upright. Slowly, he floated away from the candidates.

At first, relief washed over him. _Thank God my parachute worked…_

Then he realized that the shouting had started again.

"You stupid fucker, Nick!" Isaac yelled at the top of his voice. "You should have held onto him if you knew he had a parachute!"

"Well, who's to say I haven't got one?" Nick sneered. He released his very-much-existent parachute, bobbing upwards into a slow drift.

Harry breathed a heavy sigh through the radio link. "Now… there are four of us." His voice was strained, the dire situation finally catching up to him.

"No problem," Isaac promptly said. " _I'm_ not scared." He reached over and pulled his cord, the force of his upward motion breaking his contact with Conrad. Conrad swore loudly and swam through the air to Damon and Harry's side.

"Now what?" he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Damon replied in an astonishingly gentle tone. "We've got you, Conrad, old buddy! Hold onto Harry and I. If you're going down, we're going down with you."

 _Not the most comforting way of putting it,_ Ian thought. _But certainly a good idea._ He watched as the men arranged themselves into a triangle, black spots against the green grass. Somewhere underneath them was the white Kingsman insignia, the target of their landing. Based on the trio's position, Ian realized that they'd kept the objective in mind, unlike the others who were merely concerned with self-preservation.

Conrad was the first to unleash his parachute, the white fabric billowing out as he shot upwards. Instantly Damon and Harry closed the circle, locking their arms around each other. Each one's hand drifted to the other's pull cord.

"Harry," Damon began, breathless. "If we don't make it, I'd like you to tell my family they're dead to me."

"Okay," Harry replied wryly, "but you'll be dead to them too."

And before Ian could process the unexpected outcome, both pulled the cords at the same time.

Instantly Damon and Harry drifted apart, the appearance of their parachutes eliciting surprised shouts from everyone except Ian. He swallowed, realizing that his mouth had gone dry. _They figured it out!_ How in the world had they figured it out?

He wondered what Noel was going to say once they reached the ground.

* * *

Harry was hardly surprised when his parachute activated, but Damon was clearly shocked. He let out a cry as the parachute tugged him upward, slackening his grip on Harry's hand. Harry only inhaled sharply as they were pulled apart. For a moment, an unspeakable and dizzying amount of relief flooded him. _Thank God._ He'd gambled on an unlikely result, and won.

"What was _that?"_ Damon blurted as they slowly drifted to earth, the big K below steadily growing.

Wanting to save his assumption for when they had reached the ground, Harry broke into laughter. The sound was shaky from the adrenaline draining out of his system, but it was infectious. In no time the rest of the candidates were laughing with him. Tilting his head, Harry gazed up at all the parachutes floating above him. He picked out Conrad from the group and waved to him.

"We made it." The words tasted like victory. "We lived."

By the time Harry reached solid ground, Merlin was standing just outside the K. He waited patiently for all the candidates to arrive before calling them to attention. With strict eyes, he scrutinized them, but for once Harry couldn't care less about the possibility of elimination. His stomach was alight with embers, sending a pleasantly warm glow throughout his body.

"Nick," Merlin said immediately. "Taking the risk you did and pulling another man's cord like that is highly unprofessional. Not to mention it defeats the purpose of teamwork. Isaac, you didn't check to make sure you were positioned in the target. That lack of foresight might have cost you in action. Both of you, go back to the barracks and pack up."

Though a flicker of resentment crossed Nick's face, he and Isaac left without a word of protest. Out of the corners of his eyes, Harry glanced at Conrad and Damon, excitement rising in him. Could this be it?

"Congratulations, Harry, Damon," Merlin said. "Both of you managed to keep a cool head in a potentially life-threatening situation, completing your assignment and looking out for your teammates at the same time. Those are invaluable qualities for a Kingsman agent."

At last his gaze shifted onto Harry, who stared right back at him, waiting patiently for the inevitable question. The explanation was already on the tip of his tongue, like a bomb about to explode.

"However," Merlin said, "what made you think that both of you had a parachute?"

Harry grinned.

"When you informed us of our situation, sir, you said 'for example.' You never specifically mentioned that one of us was missing a parachute. It was worth taking a chance."

Slowly Merlin cocked his head, neither visibly impressed, nor expressing disappointment.

"In that case, well-played," he said at last. "But gambles like that don't always pay off in the field. Just remember that. Now fall out."

Harry nodded and made for the mansion. He had hardly taken a few steps before Damon came bounding up beside him.

"I can't believe it!" he gasped, raising his hand in the air. "We've made the top three!"

Smiling, Harry reached out to finish the high-five. "I knew we could do it."

"Wait up!" Conrad called from behind them. Damon abandoned Harry's side and raced over to meet his friend. Harry stopped and turned around, his smile growing wider as he watched Damon tackle Conrad.

"I'm over the Moon!" Damon declared, laughing helplessly as Conrad wrestled him to the ground. "Nothing can stop us now!"

* * *

While the top three remained in high spirits for the rest of the day, their conversation tapered off over dinner, until even Damon had shut up. Walking back to the barracks was a solitary affair, and if it hadn't been for Mr. Pickle at his side Harry would have been utterly lost in his head.

Terry and John's elimination had significantly reduced the amount of chatter and action in the barracks, but Harry felt the loss of Nick and Isaac more acutely. It was especially noticeable when Damon curled up on the couch and turned the television on. The drone of the TV had always served as nothing more than background noise for Harry, but tonight it occupied all of his attention. Beside him, Conrad settled into his book for the night, and at the foot of his bed Mr. Pickle burrowed into the covers. But Harry continued to stare at the noisy TV, his head spinning with thoughts on the brink of overflow.

To think that the two people Harry had grown closest to during training were now alongside him as the final contenders! _And I wouldn't have it any other way._ Losing the position of Galahad to Conrad or Damon didn't seem like a crushing blow. They both deserved it, just as much as he did.

Yet Harry couldn't imagine his future without Kingsman in it. All that hard work he had put in, and for what? Would Basil be disappointed in the candidate he had chosen? Automatically Harry shied away from that thought. Basil had trusted him to fulfill his lofty expectations. He couldn't start second-guessing himself now. If not for Basil, he'd do it for himself. The tantalizing images rose in his mind, walking alongside his old film heroes in a brand-new bespoke suit and swinging a walking stick like Basil's. If he were eliminated now, he'd never get the chance to live in that world again.

 _This time… it's now or never._

The TV shut off, snapping Harry out of his daydreams. He watched as Damon got to his feet and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Light's out soon. Let's go."

Harry glanced down to find Mr. Pickle already asleep. He chuckled to himself and leaned over to pat the dog on the head before getting up. Conrad was still sitting motionless in bed. The book he'd been reading had slipped from his hands, and he was staring into space with a pensive, somewhat moody look on his face.

"Conrad?" Harry said lightly. "Are you all right?"

"I shouldn't be here," Conrad muttered.

Damon, halfway to the sinks, halted and turned back, his forehead creasing. "What are you talking about, Conrad? You made it through all the tests so far. Of _course_ you should be here."

Conrad shook his head, his eyes darting down to study the cover of his book. "No, you don't understand. I'm _lucky_ to be here with you two. I didn't…"

He shrugged and leaned heavily against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

"You know, maybe those bastards John and Terry and Frederick were right. Maybe I'm just a four-eyed pig who made it this far 'cause Merlin took pity on me."

"What the _fuck?_ " Damon cried at once, indignation blazing across his face. "That's bullshit, Conrad, and you know it!"

"Don't listen to them," Harry murmured. "Don't even waste another moment thinking about them. Narrow-minded pricks like that lot aren't worth your time."

Conrad just sighed again and closed his eyes, sinking into his mattress. "They may have been complete assholes, but they did have a point. I mean, look at you two. Even among the three of us, I'm still the odd one out. You were already fit and well-studied when you entered the program. You were _prepared."_ He reached up to rub circles into the center of his forehead, brushing away a stray lock of hair. "I should have been more prepared, but… I wasn't. I _knew_ I'd have to- I knew I- _Fuck."_ Conrad's eyes snapped open, and he gazed helplessly up at Damon and Harry with the expression of a deer trapped in headlights. "I had my whole _life_ to prepare, but I'm still not ready. That's why I shouldn't be here. Not with you. I'm just a fucking _disgrace."_

An impulse to touch Conrad rose in Harry- just to lay his hand on his shoulder, nothing more. But he couldn't bring himself to move closer. All he could do was shake his head.

"You think I was prepared to join Kingsman all this time?" he said. "The only reason I've excelled at the physical training is that I used to play rugby. I'd never held a weapon before our first day on the shooting range."

Damon began to laugh, an unhinged sound. In between his gasps for air, he managed to get out, "And you think it matters what university _I_ went to? I dropped out of every one of them! When my parents contacted my godfather, I was loafing about on my arse all day, bored to tears!"

"Are you serious?" Conrad stated, staring incredulously from Damon to Harry.

Damon waited to catch his breath before striding purposefully over to Conrad's bed. Sitting down next to him, he laid his hand on Conrad's shoulder, and a jolt went through Harry to see Damon so unhindered by apprehension. Conrad opened his eyes to see Damon staring severely at him.

"You listen here. Don't _ever_ say that you don't belong with us. You're just as strong and smart as any of the rest of them. Think about it- all of those assholes were eliminated before you were! And you made it to the fucking top three!" Slowly Damon's hand slid off of Conrad's shoulder, but his eyes remained anchored on Conrad's face. "I'll be honest. I don't _care_ which one of us becomes Galahad. It'd be a huge fucking honor for any of us, and if you ask me I think we _all_ deserve it."

"My thoughts exactly," Harry said. He moved closer to the two, wondering how much distance between them was acceptable and whether or not Conrad minded. "We are all worthy of this honor. As a friend of mine once said, don't let yourself be crushed by self-doubt. Especially not at this crucial time. Whatever the future holds, I think we should all be satisfied no matter the outcome."

He waited for the words to sink in, until finally Conrad broke the silence.

"I… I'm so glad I met you two."

"Likewise," Damon replied cheerfully, patting Conrad's shoulder. Harry came closer, leaving his bed to sit down on Conrad's other side.

"For me as well," he said softly.

 _Even if we never see each other again._


	11. Seduction

_September 1982_

"Good evening, gentlemen," Merlin said as he walked into the barracks, Ian hanging back by the doorframe. "I trust you're all enjoying your evening." Harry, Damon, and Conrad all abandoned their entertainment to stare at him.

"I'm here to inform you that there is pleasure to be had outside of HQ," said Merlin. "You three have been invited to a party tonight, in London."

Ian stepped forward and handed a manila folder to each of the candidates, without making eye contact.

"Each of you have been assigned a target," Merlin went on. "Your objective is to locate your target and get to know her as… intimately as possible. And yes, that _does_ mean what you think it means."

Upon hearing the mission's purpose, Harry couldn't stop his heart from sinking. Seduction had been a topic of study several months ago, but Harry hadn't expected Kingsman to put such an emphasis on it. It struck him as cartoonish, the cliché ending to a thrilling narrative. _Handsome young protagonist climbs into bed with stunningly beautiful woman, fade to black._

Harry opened the envelope and drew out a large black-and-white photo of the target. Smiling eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a light tangle of curls, probably blonde but possibly red. Her features were delicate, and a smattering of freckles crossed her nose. A caption below announced her name- LINDSEY OLIVERS.

 _She's pretty._ But, as usual, Harry felt no desire to get to know this Lindsey "intimately," as Merlin had so delicately put it. He wondered if failing this test led to elimination. How was Merlin supposed to know that they had actually done the deed? Would he be _watching_ them? _That's more unsettling than the mission itself_.

Damon, on the other hand, let out a long, slow whistle as he unearthed the photo of his target. "Damn, she's _something._ What do you think, Harry?" He held the photo up to Harry's eyes, and Harry broke into a frown. The woman in Damon's photo was the same woman in his!

"Is this a joke?" he stated dubiously, holding up his photo so Damon could see it. Damon's expression soon mirrored his.

"No, it's not a joke," Merlin replied. "Now, you'd best get ready for the party. I hope you three don't wear her out." He turned and left, Ian following behind him.

Harry and Damon turned to Conrad, who held up a photo of the same woman. He shrugged.

"Maybe they're triplets?"

Harry tapped the target's name. "If that's the case, their mother must be the most unimaginative person alive."

Slowly the trio separated and drifted off to the wardrobe where their extra clothing was stored. As Merlin hadn't specified what _sort_ of party they'd be attending, the conversation devolved into whether they should keep their training uniforms, or slip into civilian clothes at long last. However, Harry couldn't stop pondering the test.

He briefly toyed with the notion of locating Merlin and asking if he was allowed to sit this test out. Seduction involved questionable ethics, after all, and perhaps using that as an excuse would raise his value in Merlin's eyes, as a person unwilling to compromise his strong morals. But the idea was quickly discarded. Trying to back out would just look like weakness and lack of respect. Besides, if Harry made it into Kingsman, he'd eventually have to deal with seduction. He'd be expected to sacrifice his personal comfort for a greater good.

 _Being eliminated over refusing to sleep with someone is disgraceful_. Harry highly doubted the possibility of success, especially with a man as forward and _willing_ as Damon also after his target. Still, if this was the way he had to secure the position of Galahad, so be it. He'd give it his best shot, at any rate.

After dressing, freshening up, and reading through the provided files on the details of the party and the target's background, Harry, Damon, and Conrad headed to the shuttle, eager for their first taste of freedom in months.

* * *

The moment Ian arrived at Noel's workstation, he was greeted by three agents circling the terminal. Though Ian hadn't expected them, their presence was not strictly _surprising._ Noel had mentioned that this was one of the few tests that the sponsors were allowed to observe. Ian slid up beside Noel and peered over his shoulder at the screen. Under Noel's feet, Delilah snoozed away.

"You're just in time, Ian," Noel said quietly. "Harry, Damon, and Conrad should be arriving at the party any minute."

The images on the monitor came from several different security cameras, no doubt those which Noel had hacked into. Ian shifted in place and stole a few glances at the three men surrounding him. He recognized Percival immediately from the overly-friendly smile aimed his way.

"It's good to see you again, my boy!" Percival exclaimed, confidently offering his hand. "How are the lessons treating you?"

"They're fine," Ian replied, stiffly shaking Percival's hand. Percival beamed, but Noel shushed him before he could open his mouth again. "Quiet, Percival, I won't be able to focus if you keep making small talk."

Percival arched one eyebrow and smirked at Ian, but he dutifully shut up, leaving Ian free to observe the other agents. Pellinore he recognized from the first mission that he and Noel had worked together- an unforgettable night. The other man Ian identified as Bors. He hadn't observed a mission with him before, but the telltale band on his finger, beside his Kingsman signet ring, gave away his identity.

"Here they are," Noel said. The screen showed a view of the main entrance, where party guests were slowly filtering in. Among them were the three candidates, clad in casual dress. After interacting with them day after day in their training uniforms, Ian found the sight jarring, to say the least. Damon led the way, his hand resting on Conrad's shoulder blade as if leading him, talking animatedly. Behind them, Harry trailed like a bodyguard, his stance relaxed and an easygoing smile filling his face.

As soon as Percival caught sight of his candidate, his chest swelled with pride. "I _knew_ Harry would make the top three. He's turned out to be a fine young man."

"I do hope the same can be said for Damon," Pellinore muttered, his eyes fixated on the screen. Bors said nothing, looking on.

"And here," Noel declared, switching to a different camera's view, "is our man." He tapped the screen, outlining a tall, muscular man who was bending over, offering a woman champagne. Ian stared raptly at the man, memorizing his features so that he could keep track of his movements through the crowd.

 _Now… we wait._

* * *

 _Don't you want me, baby?_

 _Don't you want me, oh…_

Harry and Lindsey walked back to the sidelines as the sounds of the Human League faded into oblivion. Both were breathing heavily from jumping around to the music, but the smiles on their faces were genuine. Lindsey even took Harry's hand as they walked off. Her red hair was turning odd colors under the multicolored lights.

"Thank you very much," Lindsey said, a carefree look in her eye. "You're a wonderful dancer."

"Thank _you,"_ Harry replied warmly. "I'm glad that I've found someone who can keep up with me." This elicited a slight giggle from Lindsey, which widened the grin on Harry's face. _This isn't so bad._ Not as bad as it could have been, anyway.

Aware that Damon and Conrad were watching from the sidelines, Harry lifted Lindsey's unresisting hand, giving it a quick kiss. She blushed immediately and took her hand away.

"You know, I don't meet too many people like you. You're a real gentleman…"

"Hey, Harry!" Damon's nasally tenor pierced the air like a knife. Harry turned to see him standing next to a server by the wall, waving. Once he'd gotten Harry's attention, he pointed at Conrad, who reclined against the wall with arms crossed, a champagne flute clenched in one hand.

"You know the deal," Damon called, a tipsy smile on his face. "One dance! It's Conrad's turn now!"

Lindsey sighed, meeting Harry's eyes and raising an eyebrow. Harry could guess that she was beginning to regret agreeing to dance with each man for the next three songs. "I'm going to head to the loo. Can you tell your friend that I'll meet him in a moment?"

"Of course," Harry replied. Lindsey bowed her head and left, and Harry returned to the sidelines.

No sooner had Harry gotten back that Damon launched into a mild rant. "She let you kiss her hand? She wouldn't even let me _touch_ it! I can't believe you're doing so _well."_

Harry shrugged. _Neither can I._ "I suppose she just finds me more charming." He approached the drinks server and snagged a glass from his tray, while Damon groaned. "And you with no _experience._ No offense of course."

Harry raised his eyebrows as he sipped his champagne. _None taken._ As long as he could help it, he'd _never_ have any "experience."

A new song began, and more partygoers rushed to the floor to dance.

 _Poor old Johnny Ray_

 _Sounded sad upon the radio, moved a million hearts in mono_

 _Oh, our mothers cried…_

"Damn!" Conrad suddenly shouted, smacking his free hand against his thigh. "The one song I actually like!"

"Can't let it go to waste, then," Damon said. "Why don't we take the floor together?"

Harry bit back his warm laughter. "Let's not forget our task, gentlemen."

 _"_ _Gentlemen,"_ Damon mimicked. He turned to the server, tapping his shoulder and pasting on a friendly smile. "Harry, while you were out dancing with the girl I was telling my new friend Dwayne about how we're each having a go at her." There was a slight slur to his speech, leading Harry to suspect that he'd had more than just the champagne. Not that he could blame Damon- his glass had a strange, unpleasantly salty flavor to it.

Dwayne sagely nodded. "I see it at every party that I work."

"Yet you're refusing to help us," Damon pouted, sounding as put out as a child reluctant to go to bed. Harry reached over to place his glass back on the drinks tray.

"Well, my first piece of advice is that it's unfair to split a woman three ways," Dwayne said genially. "But if you ask me, I'd say Rohypnol always does the trick."

Harry frowned. _"Rohypnol?"_ Surely that was going too far. "What are you talki-"

The words died as Harry found his body slowly relaxing. He stumbled back, trying to keep himself upright, but he couldn't seem to figure out which way was up and which was down. The last thing he heard before his vision darkened was the sound of breaking glass as Conrad dropped his champagne.

* * *

Ian tensed as he watched Damon, Harry, and Conrad lose their balance and slump back against the wall. Behind him, he heard someone take a sharp breath. Noel watched the screen dispassionately, his eyes flickering between camera views.

"All clear to go, Dwayne."

Dwayne didn't respond verbally, but he set his tray down. He moved in, gently collecting the limp bodies of the candidates and helping them struggle to the building's entrance.

Before Ian could remark on how suspicious that appeared- leaving with three half-conscious partygoers out the main entrance- Dwayne's voice carried through his mic, addressing the concerned door greeters. "They've had a bit too much. Come on, boys, party's over." His sympathetic smile assuaged the greeters, who let him go without a fuss.

"Your cab should be waiting for you at the front," Noel informed Dwayne.

"On it, Merlin," came the rough whisper back. A moment later, the sound of a car door slamming drifted over the line.

"We're in the cab. Starting route back to HQ."

"Good work," Noel praised. He cut the video links from the party and swiveled around in his chair, staring up at the three expectant agents. "Percival, Bors, Pellinore. The candidates should make it back here within an hour. For the time being, I suggest you go to the railway tunnels and set up for the coming test."

"All right, Merlin," Pellinore said. Bors gave a nod, and Percival settled his hands on his walking stick and sighed. "Shall we go, gentlemen?" They strode off, Percival leading the way.

Once the agents had left, Noel stood up and stretched. "You'll need to wait here, Ian. The following test is crucial to determining our candidates' loyalty." From under his desk, Delilah crawled out, tail wagging and eyes bright.

Ian stared at the monitor's empty screen, contemplating. "So the candidates won't gain any seduction experience?"

Noel made a sound in the back of his throat that resembled disapproval. "Seduction isn't exactly something that can be taught, no matter what NLP advocates will tell you. Whether or not we send agents on those types of missions depends on their personal degree of charm and willingness." He sat down heavily in his seat, tapping the keyboard to establish links to the cameras in the tunnels. "If you ask me, honeypots are not exactly gentlemanly, nor are they appetizing."

Ian had nothing to say to that. Such an opinion was unsurprising coming from Noel, whom Ian had always imagined to be more taken with batteries and circuitry than the company of a lover. Of course, Ian was also glad _he_ didn't have to fumble about trying to chat up a woman. He reached down and absently ran his fingers through Delilah's fur as the image on the screen gave way to train tracks and a dark tunnel.

The first to undergo the test was Damon. Ian watched Dwayne half-carry, half-drag him onto the train tracks, before swiftly tying him up. Noel gave the go-ahead for the train to start, while Dwayne quickly pulled on his overcoat and gloves and unsheathed his concealed knife.

The sound of the train's whistle jolted Damon to full alertness. He tried to sit up, only to find that he was bound in place, and that Dwayne was leaning over him with a truly disturbing smile on his face.

"Damon Lassiter," he said. "I've got two questions for you. You answer them, and I'll let you go free." He indicated his knife, while Damon's eyes grew wider and wider, presumably realizing the gravity of the situation.

"First, who's Michael Callahan? And second, what's Kingsman?"

"What the fuck?!" Damon spat, twisting and turning frantically against the ropes. "Are you out of your fucking mind? They're just some tailors, what do you want with them?"

"Don't give me that crap, Damon!" Dwayne shouted, crouching down to better look him in the eye. "Two of your friends are already dead 'cause they refused to talk, so you better think before you speak!"

"I don't know anything!" Damon cried. "You're _insane!_ Let me _go…"_

As he struggled, the train came closer and closer, and Dwayne's face twisted into a mask of impatient rage. "Come on, Damon!" He straightened up, raising his voice to be heard over the incoming train. "Is Kingsman _really_ worth _dying_ for?"

Just when Ian thought Damon might not say a word, he let out a defiant shout, sounding more pissed off than aware of the impending disaster. "Well, I'm about to die for it _now,_ so you're a _bit_ too late to ask!"

The train came then, whooshing over the tracks and blocking Damon from view. Ian kept his eyes fixed to the side of the track. He could just barely see Pellinore appear and trade places with Dwayne, who handed off the knife.

Once the train had passed, the tracks slid apart, and Damon rose upwards, his eyes round with shock. Pellinore approached him, and when Damon noticed, he quickly inhaled.

"Uncle Michael!"

"Well done, Damon," Pellinore said simply, crouching down to cut Damon free.

"That's one down," Noel remarked, dragging Ian from the scene playing out before him. He raised his coffee mug to his lips and gave it a thoughtful sip.

"Two more to go..."

Conrad was tested next. Damon and Pellinore came up to Noel's workstation right at the crucial moment.

"Who's William Hastings, Conrad? And what's Kingsman?"

Conrad, who had been shaking ever since awakening, replied with an edge of desperation in his voice. "I-I- I can't tell you, I can't say anything, I-"

 _"_ _Bullshit!"_ Dwayne shouted, seething. "You better say _something,_ or you'll end up dead just like your two friends!"

Though it was impossible to see through the grainy camera footage, Ian imagined Conrad's face blanching. His voice rose in pitch until it bordered on shrill. "I _can't!_ I, I don't know, I- I _can't_ say…"

Dwayne made an exasperated clucking noise with his tongue. "Time's almost up! Conrad, is Kingsman worth _dying_ for?"

Just like that, the floodgates unlocked, and Conrad broke into hysteria. " _No!_ No, no, no… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's _not_ worth it, it's not…" He was still choking on his words as the train rolled in and Dwayne switched places with Bors.

Once the floor rose and Conrad caught sight of Bors standing over him, he froze. _"Dad?"_

Bors said nothing, only kneeling to cut the ropes. Conrad turned his head, refusing to meet his father's eyes. Ian could only imagine the overwhelming shame he must feel.

"Dad, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…" His voice wavered off-pitch, and a sob broke through him. "I know you- you wanted- I'm _sorry…"_

The moment Conrad sat up, Bors took his hand and hauled him to his feet. At first Ian expected him to reprimand his son, but instead Bors wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm sorry too," he murmured, in a voice like a light breeze stirring up leaves.

"Holy _shit…"_ Damon whispered.

"I apologize," Pellinore said, drawing Damon away from the terminal. "We probably shouldn't have been watching."

Ian, on the other hand, felt astonishingly nonchalant. All his late nights of mission observation had made him a voyeur. On the screens, he had seen faces punched in, men electrocuted or put to sleep, and agents continually putting their lives in danger. There was nothing from which he could be spared. Simply put, this was par for the course.

"Conrad," Noel said softly over the speakers. "Pack your bags and go home."

* * *

Nothing.

After the cooling fizz of champagne sliding down his throat… the infectious beat of "Come On Eileen" blaring...

 _Nothing._

Nothingness filled him, surrounded him, like the sickening sensation of falling in a dream. Then… then _something,_ something that felt like harsh light scouring the inside of his eyeballs. Harry's eyes snapped open, gazing at a pattern of cold bricks above his head.

"Harry Hart!" someone shouted, and Harry tried to turn to see who was calling him- only to find that he couldn't move. In the dim, flickering half-light, he took in the ropes bound tightly around his wrists and ankles. His body went rigid.

Before him, a man melted out of the shadows, taunting. "You've got nowhere to run!" He wore a black overcoat, and in one gloved hand, a knife glinted. Harry's blood ran cold, his heart starting to pound.

"I'll cut you loose," the man sneered, "if you spill some information. Tell me, Harry, who's Basil Winthrop? And what's _Kingsman?"_

The hair on Harry's arms stood up and goosebumps prickled across his flesh. _BASIL!_ How could they have known? How did this man find out-

Then his ears picked up a low humming in the distance. He'd been too muddled from the man's questions to notice… but when the telltale whine pierced his ears, a cold sweat broke out across his flesh.

The dim light that had woken him was a train's headlight. And he was on the tracks.

Automatically Harry struggled, twisting against his bonds, but they held firm. The man's nightmarish face loomed over him, shrouded half in shadow, a menacing grin highlighting the gleam in his eyes.

"Time's running out, Harry! This is your only chance!"

After a moment of searching, Harry found his voice. It came out hardly audible beneath the chugging of the approaching train, but he was satisfied that it showed no fear. "Why should I tell you _anything?"_

In answer, the man brandished his knife. "Tick tock, Harry. I've already wasted my time on both your friends, who decided they'd rather _die._ Spill it!"

The loose ends of Harry's scrambled brain tried to reconnect, to put together the bigger picture. How had he ended up-? Where were…?

 _It doesn't matter now_.

It didn't matter if the train had already run over Damon and Conrad, if Harry was lying on tracks stained with blood. What mattered was the conflict- give up Kingsman, and he'd live a life in shame.

But give up his _life_ … and Kingsman was secured.

The train drew closer, rattling the tracks and sending Harry's hair swirling about his face. The man's voice grew louder, shouting above the noise. "Harry!" A mixture of disgust, pity, and hatred surged through his voice. "Is Kingsman really worth _dying_ for?"

The question awoke something in Harry, snapping him to attention as if a lightning bolt had struck him. For a moment he forgot the train, the ropes, the knife. He stared incredulously at the man, his hands balling into fists.

"Kingsman's the best thing that's ever _happened_ to me!" he declared at the top of his voice, flinging his words defiantly into the man's face. _"Of COURSE it's worth dying for!"_

The train was inches away now, its whistle shrieking through Harry's ears. He closed his eyes as the light grew blinding, bracing himself for the inevitable.

But at what would have been the moment of impact, Harry felt his body drop.

He couldn't stop the shudder that wracked him as the train clattered over the rails.

Slowly Harry opened his eyes to find himself staring up at a patchwork of metal tracks. After a long, breathless moment, the train rattled off, and light filtered in through the cracks.

 _What just happened?_

The tracks above Harry's head parted, and he rose to the surface.

 _Was- was that a TEST?_

Standing before him, garbed in the mysterious man's dark cloak and gloves and carrying the same knife, was Basil.

"Congratulations, Harry!" he called jovially. "You've passed the test. Good show, my boy!"

Immense relief trickled through Harry, causing his voice to tremble slightly. "It- _was_ a test."

"Of course," Basil said, nodding sharply. "And you're the last to take it." He strode onto the tracks and knelt, threading his knife into the space between the rope and Harry's wrists. "I couldn't be any prouder of you."

Warmth swelled through Harry's chest, coupling with relief to fill him up like a helium balloon. After a bit of work, the ropes were off and Harry was free. He pushed himself upright, shaking his head as the blood rushed to it, causing his vision to darken and his ears to ring.

"How long was I out?"

"Just long enough," came Basil's brisk reply. "Don't worry, no harm was done to you." He offered his hand, which Harry gladly took, rising to his feet. Once his vision cleared, he stepped forward, his arms outstretched, ready to greet Basil properly. But Basil backed away, clearing his throat and glancing at the wall.

"Come on, my boy. Let's get off the tracks. Don't want to keep old Merlin waiting."

* * *

"I was personally very impressed to hear of Damon Lassiter's performance," Basil remarked as they wound through the corridors. The fluorescent lights nearly hurt Harry's eyes. He followed along blindly, still a bit woozy from the drug.

"Merlin tells me he did a bang-up job," Basil continued. "But I'm willing to bet you knocked him out of the park!"

 _Of course he would,_ Harry thought. _He's just as grateful to Kingsman as I am._ Quickening his pace to keep up with Basil, Harry asked, "And what about Conrad?"

"Conrad Hastings?" Basil looked away, but Harry caught a brief flash of uncertainty in his expression. "I'm sorry to say he won't be moving on in this program."

Harry had no time to process the information before Basil threw open a door and they stumbled upon Merlin's workstation. Harry's heart gave a salmon-leap of relief when he noticed Damon's presence. Though Basil had confirmed that Damon was safe, the flash of a knife and the man's ominous words still rollicked through Harry's head. _"…who decided they'd rather DIE…"_ Seeing Damon for himself was stronger proof than Basil could give.

"Good job, Harry!" Damon cried, his grin stretched wide across his cheeks. "Pellinore and I were watching on the monitor. You were brilliant!" He reached out his hand, meeting Harry with a palm-stinging high five.

"Percival says the same about you," said Harry, stepping forward. "I suppose we're-"

"Fall in," Merlin interrupted.

The four of them lined up- Basil, Harry, Damon, and an older gentleman who must have been Pellinore. Merlin turned around in his chair to face them, while Ian watched studiously from the side. Even Merlin's pet dog sat alert, as if waiting for a cue.

"Percival, Pellinore," Merlin addressed the agents. "Congratulations. Your candidates have made it to the top two. And congratulations as well to Harry and Damon for making it this far. Now, as tradition allows, you have twenty-four hours to spend with each other before the final test. You are dismissed for the evening."

Harry bowed his head in a deep nod, wondering if he should thank Merlin for the time and effort that he'd put into training. But Basil tapped lightly on his shoulder.

"We're taking the shuttle back to London," he said, jerking his head in its direction. A smile as light as sunbeams filled his face. "I do believe there's a pint or two at a pub with your name on them."


	12. 24 Hours

Once Harry had boarded the shuttle alongside Basil, Damon, and Pellinore, his sponsor's words suddenly came back to haunt him.

 _Conrad Hastings? I'm sorry to say he won't be moving on in this program._

The statement should have been innocuous, but taking the last test into account, it left Harry reeling. The man who'd tied him to the tracks had been lying when he claimed to have killed both Damon and Conrad. But they _had_ been in danger. And if one had to prove their loyalty in order to pass the test, then surely _failing_ the test…

Merlin's voice echoed through Harry's head. … _because if you break said confidentiality, it will result in your returning home in the bag that you chose…_

A deep chill seized Harry. So far, only one death had occurred during training. But Merlin's warning had always lurked in the dark recesses of his mind, driving him to stay on his best behavior. Sever Kingsman's bond of trust, and there would be hell to pay.

 _In that case… Conrad must be dead._

Quiet, kind-hearted, insecure Conrad was dead, just like Paul all those months ago. Another life lost to the rigors of Kingsman training. The stakes were higher now than ever before.

 _What does this entail for the final test?_

Harry's hand folded into a fist in his lap. He shut his eyes for a moment, fighting the overwhelming desire to demand information from Basil. Kingsman might not be at liberty to reveal what had happened to Conrad, and it certainly wasn't the time and place to ask. However, these concerns did little for Harry's composure.

"Harry?" A gentle touch against his shoulder brought Harry back to life. He opened his eyes to find Basil staring curiously at him. "Haven't you been listening?"

Harry took a deep breath, controlling his expression. _Wait._ Wait until the shuttle let off, until they were out of the tailor shop, until they had arrived at Basil's pub of choice- and _then_ ask him. There was no need to disrupt Damon and Pellinore.

"Excuse me. I must have let my mind wander." Harry gave an apologetic smile. "Where were we, Basil?"

But as Basil relaunched the conversation, Harry's eyes slid over to Damon, and the chill that saturated him grew stronger. Damon stared somberly back at him, not even bothering to hide his emotions. When their eyes met, a shiver ran through Harry. _He must have realized too…_ The thirst for knowledge flared within him, stronger than before.

The elevator ride to the main level seemed to last forever. Relief flooded Harry as soon as they reached Fitting Room One. Basil and Pellinore strode on ahead, but as Harry made to follow them, Damon clutched his arm and drew him back.

"Excuse us for a moment," Damon called to the agents. "I wanted to talk to Harry about something." He released Harry and waited for Basil and Pellinore to move on, nodding, before turning his gaze to Harry.

"Harry, Conrad's safe. In case that's why you looked so worried."

" _Oh."_ Harry's pent-up tension dissolved. Slowly he exhaled, deflating.

"How do you know? Did Pellinore tell you?"

"I saw his test myself," Damon explained. "They saved him, just like they did to us. But he broke down- he was about to confess everything."

Harry's forehead creased. _About to._

"But he didn't?"

Damon furtively glanced towards the door. "I don't think I should say another word. The main thing is that Conrad's out, and we're in. So like I said before—" He modestly held out his hand. "May the best man win."

"Damon…" Harry stared down at Damon's hand, a mixture of emotions surfacing within him. A handshake felt like an inadequate way of expressing himself. He stepped forward, his arms out. But then the door opened.

"Excuse me," Pellinore said. "We haven't got all night, Damon."

"Sorry," Harry murmured. He took Damon's hand and shook it heartily. "Yes, Damon, may the best man win. See you in twenty-four hours."

A small smile touched Damon's lips. "Goodnight, Harry." He sauntered over to Pellinore, and they left the fitting room together. Basil bid them farewell before popping his head around the doorway.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

"Perfectly fine. Now point the way to those pints you mentioned."

* * *

When the cab Basil had called for pulled up at the curb, Harry couldn't help raising his eyebrows. Instead of the common pub he had envisioned, he was greeted with a patio studded with tea lights on every table, and a glowing sign with the restaurant's name in cursive. _La Lumiere du Ciel._

 _A lofty name for such a place,_ Harry thought as he followed Basil inside. _Though they're clearly trying to live up to it._ The entire restaurant was infused with golden light, balanced by the dark mahogany shades of each table. Miniature columns blocked off the back of the restaurant, and tasteful, scenic paintings adorned each wall. As a sharply-dressed waiter carried a shining platter of profiteroles past Harry, a curious mix of comfort and disquiet rose within him. Compared to the bare necessities of Kingsman training, this restaurant made for a refreshing change of scenery. Shame the lavishness of the entire affair reminded him of the careless wealth his family had tried to impose on him, before he left for good.

Basil led Harry to a table by a front window, overlooking the patio. When the waitress came around, he requested water on the heels of Basil's order of Guinness. Over his menu, Basil arched an eyebrow.

"You're not going to live a little, Harry? Tonight's a celebration."

"No thank you," Harry said politely. "I'm afraid I'll still taste the Rohypnol."

Basil nodded sympathetically. "It's not a flavor to be easily forgotten, let me tell you." He set his menu flat on the table. "But you were _excellent_ tonight. Our handler tells me that you're at the top of the class. No one else in the program has matched you." The restaurant's warm lighting set his cool blue eyes aglow. "I hope you're aware of your success."

Harry bowed his head at the praise, unable to keep from breaking into a smile. Though he wasn't the type to be flattered, Basil's admiration sent warmth spiraling through his system. "Thank you, Basil. I appreciate hearing it from you."

"You're very welcome." Basil leaned back into his seat and clasped his hands together. "Your training's almost over, my boy. Did you enjoy it?"

Cautiously Harry swept his eyes across the room, searching for any possible eavesdroppers, but a chuckle from Basil stopped him. "No need for suspicion, Harry. If we keep our voices down, we're safe to talk here. Besides, if we run into any trouble, we can always rely on a certain someone to get us out of it." He tapped the frame of his glasses with a knowing smile, but the action utterly failed to produce the proper response in Harry. He frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I follow…"

"The glasses?" Basil's smile disappeared, before comprehension softened his features. " _Right._ You haven't been exposed to any of our tech, besides what you saw in Fitting Room Three." He removed his glasses and carefully slid them across the table, lowering his voice. "These glasses function as an audio-video recorder. With the tap of a button, one can transmit to HQ at any moment. We'll be safe, provided of course that Merlin isn't sleeping on the job." He chuckled incredulously, as if the idea of Merlin sleeping was downright impossible.

"Barring that, my oxfords have a phone built into them. I can't show you now, though, or we'd attract too much attention."

Lightly Harry picked up the glasses, turning them over in his hand. A forbidden sort of thrill went through him- the same feeling he'd had when he'd snuck out of his home for the first time, disobeying his parents' orders. He'd always associated Basil with these glasses, and holding them now felt like a symbol of Basil's trust. Harry handed them back, a vision of Merlin and his intern springing to mind. Suddenly their ever-present glasses took on a double meaning. He wondered if Conrad would have been allowed to keep the same frames, had he surpassed Damon and Harry in training.

"Incredible," he said. The glow of a grin filled Basil's face as he nodded. "They were Merlin's idea. Before we had to blunder about with hidden cams, and _that_ was no picnic." He sighed in a blissful reminiscence. "You'll get your own pair, once you win."

"Once I win," Harry quietly repeated, staring down at the menu before him. He didn't try to remind Basil that the final outcome of training was still a mystery. Tonight, the future was broad enough to do away with uncertainties.

"What other sort of gadgets have Kingsman designed?" he asked in a low voice, curiosity saturating his words.

Basil heaved himself up and leaned forward, his voice hushing further. "We shouldn't discuss them in too much detail. In fact, I was considering taking you tomorrow to see for yourself. But…" Without looking away from Harry, he reached for his walking stick, tapping the brass cap with two fingers. "There's a trigger hidden on this device, which allows users to fire specially-designed bullets from the other end."

Harry stared at the walking stick, suddenly seeing Basil's gentlemanly accessories in a new light. _All this time, and I never knew…_ He raised his eyebrows as he looked back at Basil. "Very impressive."

"Of course, the staff itself works just as well as an ordinary bludgeoning instrument," Basil said cheerfully. "I can't tell you how much fun it's been to use it." Hurriedly he added, "But not in public, of course."

The waitress chose that moment to interrupt, dropping off their drinks and taking meal orders. Basil requested steak "so rare you can still hear it breathing," while Harry ordered penne pesto with sun-dried tomatoes. However, his mind was on anything but food. Basil's accessories brought a truly tantalizing thought to mind- _how many does he have on him right now?_

As Basil raised his glass to his lips, Harry spied the golden signet ring wrapped around his right pinky finger. Realization struck, and the devious hint of a smile crossed his face. Once Basil set his glass down, Harry immediately inquired, "The signet?"

"Hm?" Basil swallowed and eyed Harry with a friendly, challenging stare.

"Your ring," Harry said calmly. "Signets are not traditionally worn on the right hand."

Slowly a crafty smile wound its way across Basil's face. "I use it to electrocute people."

Harry bit back a startled laugh. He stared at the ring with newfound respect and tried to call more items from the shop into his mind.

"What about the pens? Have they got any… special features?"

"Yes, of course," Basil said. "Though we don't sell _those_ types. Ours are loaded with poison."

Harry exhaled, envisioning an unlucky target receiving the poison. He was dying to know how exactly it worked, but further public discussion could prove incriminating.

 _What else did I see in the shop?_ Racking his brain, Harry finally came up with, "And your watch?"

Basil rolled up his sleeve to check the time. Looking at the watch face, he said, "Knockout darts." Then he transferred his bright eyes to Harry's face. "But I shouldn't be telling you all this. You've got to see it for yourself"

"You mean, if I join K… if I join the organization?" said Harry.

"No, no!" Basil exclaimed, shaking his head. " _Tomorrow._ I know you're going to win that position, Harry. There's no harm in showing you the ropes ahead of time."

The idea didn't strike Harry as entirely sound. Wouldn't he pose a potential risk to Kingsman if he were ejected from the program after being exposed to their technology? But Harry didn't want to entertain the notion of failure longer than he had to, and he didn't want to argue with Basil, so he chose to change the subject.

"You mentioned that the glasses were Merlin's idea. Did he design all of your tech?"

Basil paused to take another sip of beer, the light fading in his eyes. "He developed them, yes. But most of the designs were already in place. Our current handler just upgraded them. He's not the first to be known as Merlin."

"Handler?" Harry repeated, wrapping his mind around the word. "What does Merlin do outside of training?"

Basil shrugged easily. "As his title would imply, he handles every agent's missions, watching us through our glasses cams. He's like an inner voice that's not your own. Gives us _quite_ a hard time." He tapped his temple and grimaced. "You saw his workstation tonight. That's where he controls us from, and where to call if one of us is ever in a jam."

Picturing Merlin sitting at HQ brought Ian's stone-cold face to mind. Harry took a sip of water before asking, "What about his intern? Do you know his role outside of training?"

Basil shook his head, entirely uninterested. "I know that he's going to become our next handler, whenever our current one retires. I've no idea where Merlin found the boy. Candidates just seem to… drop in these days."

Before Harry could ask if Basil knew anything about Merlin's background, the food arrived, diverting his attention. He dug in, savoring the rich flavors- much different from the meals served at HQ. _I could live without being Galahad for the sake of this dinner._

A quarter of the way into his meal, Basil set his utensils down and inquisitively cocked his head. "Harry, it's just occurred to me that you never answered my previous question. How did you enjoy training?"

Harry swallowed a bite of pasta before responding. "Is that a trick question? You aren't going to go running to Merlin if I say anything negative about the program?"

An exasperated sound escaped Basil, halfway between a laugh and snort. "If I told _Merlin_ he'd be after us _both._ But I know you didn't _dis_ like it."

"You're correct." Harry took up his glass of water. "Strenuous exercise, but so far the end result has been worth it."

"Small sacrifice if it helped you get this far, isn't it?" Basil picked up his fork and knife to cut another section of the steak. "Our fine handler has certainly whipped you into shape."

Harry smiled, taking a sip of water. "Swimming and boxing kept me in shape at university. I never imagined I'd end up sniping targets in the dead of night and jumping off planes, too."

Basil laughed gaily, pleased as punch "Ah, the parachute test. Now that was a thrill! Merlin told me you figured out the trick."

"Yes," Harry said, nodding. His imagination stirred at the thought of Basil, thirty years younger, rocketing to the ground through a clear blue sky. How strange it was to think that he was following in the same footsteps of his mentor. Picturing Basil as a young man was difficult in itself. His hair had been gray and his face had been lined for as long as Harry had known him.

Basil went back to his meal, and Harry followed suit, content to eat in relative silence. He was all but finished when Basil spoke again.

"If I were at liberty to inform your parents of your success, I know they would both be immensely honored."

Harry's hand stilled in the process of reaching for his glass. He moved back, clasping his hands together in his lap.

"But… you're _not_ at liberty, Basil, so… please don't breathe a word."

Basil shook his head, but Harry could see in his smooth eyes that he was unaware of the significance of Harry's request. "I wouldn't dare to compromise innocents, my boy. Especially not ones as well-loved as Edward and Lucinda Hart. However…" He reached for his glass of beer and drained it before continuing nonchalantly. " _You_ are allowed to contact them and let them know what you've been up to all this time."

Instinctively Harry's face hardened into a cold mask. _It's not that simple. He met with my parents right before seeking me out at Oxford. Surely he's aware we're not on speaking terms._

Yet even as Harry remembered this, the words "immensely honored" rang in his ears. Surely Basil knew the Harts' feelings better than Harry did, if he was still in contact with them. Despite everything they had done to make their disapproval known… Harry's parents would be proud to know that their son had found his place in the world, that he was destined for greatness. One phone call or trip out of town would give Harry the chance to prove this to them.

"I'm not sure about that, Basil," Harry murmured, his voice stiff with the weight of his thoughts. "Two years is a lot of time to fill in."

"Two years?" Basil murmured. He tapped a fingernail against his glass, and the sound seemed to peal across the restaurant. "Your parents did mention that you've been… problematic. They were reluctant to discuss the matter with me." His gaze was cool, uncaring, but the strength of his eyes brought unease crawling through Harry's skin. He stared emotionlessly back, not rising to the bait. _If you want to discuss it, you're not getting a word out of me._

"I respect your wish for privacy, Harry," Basil relented at last. "However, I can attest to the fact that your parents have no idea where you are right now." His voice grew softer, warmer. "I'm not asking you to reestablish contact permanently, but don't you think they'd like to know that your future is secure?"

 _What do they care about my future?_ The view of the graduation hall five months ago filled Harry's mind's eye. _They weren't interested then- why should they start now?_

The uncomfortable thought swam through Harry's head that perhaps he had misjudged Basil after all. Basil had known the Harts much longer than he'd known Harry personally. Maybe he only saw Harry as an opportunity for Kingsman, and proposed him out of convenience rather than any real desire for him to get ahead. Sitting across from Basil, Harry didn't _want_ to believe that someone so proud of him could fake his emotions that well, but maybe… Deception played a major role in his profession, after all.

Taking a deep breath, Harry sorted out his words.

"Basil, are they concerned about me personally, or are they concerned that they no longer have their eyes on me?"

A gentle, chiding look fell across Basil's face. "You can always ask them yourself."

For a few slim seconds, the prospect hung like a tempting fruit on a branch above Harry's head. _Ask them yourself…_ It wasn't hard to reestablish contact. To settle the matter, once and for all, of how Harry's family really viewed him. To prove not only that he didn't want them, but he didn't _need_ them. _If they could see me now… how far I've come and what I've learned… who I've become…_

But however tempting the notion was, Harry balked at the thought of following through. Reestablishing contact would only mean defeat, like slashing open a wound long scarred over. To return home was to invite the bitter arguments, to make Harry a target once again. And he refused to submit to anyone's will but his own, even if they were blood related.

 _Basil has learned nothing if he doesn't understand that._

Slowly Harry shook his head, leaning across the table to look Basil straight in the eye.

"My apologies, but I am not calling or visiting home for the life of me. If they want to find me so badly, they can look for me themselves."

Basil's only reaction to Harry's words was to slowly raise one eyebrow.

"Very well." He lifted his glass to his lips and casually drained the rest of his drink. "At least you'll always have Kingsman to return to."

Before Harry could ask Basil what he meant, the waitress arrived to take their empty plates and settle the question of payment.

* * *

After dinner, a cab came to whisk Harry and Basil off to Basil's home. Basil didn't give the driver the name of his intended destination, leading Harry to believe that this was another Kingsman-owned vehicle. It rolled to a stop in front of Basil's mews home, a place that Harry's memory had left untouched. Though many years had passed since he had last visited Basil, the exterior was immediately identifiable.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Basil commented humorously as he opened the door. He went to turn on the lights as Harry stepped aside. Now that they were finally in private, with no other plans for the night, weariness began to set in. Part of Harry wanted to explore the house to see if anything had changed since he had last been there, but the dominant part of him was ready to dive into bed.

"Basil?" Harry called as Basil reentered the room, after illuminating the entire ground floor. "Could you show me your guest room?"

"Certainly!" Basil replied. He went to the stairs and motioned for Harry to follow him. "What kind of a host would I be if I couldn't? I assume you're in the mood to rest after such a long day."

"You can say that again," Harry sighed. Blindly he followed Basil down the short corridor to the last doorway on the right. Basil opened the door with a flourish, revealing a bed and dresser and little else.

"Not the most glamorous of rooms, but no doubt you'll find it comfortable," Basil said. "There's extra clothing in the dresser. Sleepwear and whatnot. I'm sure you'll manage."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Harry said, forcing a smile to his lips. "Thank you, Basil." He entered the room as Basil shrugged and cleared his throat. "Well, if you're all set I suppose I should-"

From downstairs pealed the unmistakable ring of a telephone. Basil turned away from the door, chuckling. "I suppose I should answer the phone! If you'll excuse me." He hurried down the corridor as Harry removed a pair of soft silk pajamas from the dresser drawer.

Harry was in the middle of changing when Basil's voice drifted up the stairs. "Ah, Edward! How delightful it is that you've called, I was just thinking about you today!"

 _Edward?_ The name drew Harry's attention. Though he didn't know what kind of social circles Basil ran in, there was only one man he knew named Edward. It was a name he had been forced to carry, in his honor. _Is Basil talking to my father?!_

Hastily Harry finished dressing and walked out to the top of the stairs. From where he stood, he could see Basil's movements against the wall from the room on the left, gesturing as he spoke. "How's the family? Are the children succeeding in their academic pursuits?" He stilled in order to listen to the response. "Oh, you must congratulate her for me! Haven't I always mentioned that Alana has the perfect temperament for education? I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that she's putting her talent to good use!"

Harry stiffened. _Alana. My sister._ Alana, Brenda, and Thomas, the three siblings Harry hadn't spoken to since he left for Oxford, though that was no fault of theirs. _He IS talking to my father._ The thought chilled Harry's soul. He made his way down the stairs, desperate to communicate with Basil, to tell him not to let his parents know that he was there…

Before Harry could take a step into the room, Basil appeared in the doorway, the receiver pressed against his ear. "Give her my regards," he said, as he locked eyes with Harry. Harry stood stock-still, unable to say a word or look away.

"Now, what about your eldest?" Basil said. "I seem to recall you haven't heard from him in a while." Carefully, without even blinking, he mouthed the words _It's your father._ Harry nodded, unsure of what to do. If Basil slipped up at all- if he said the wrong word at the wrong time, or if he didn't take Harry's desire for anonymity seriously enough- Harry would be dragged back into the mess from which he had succeeded in escaping. But he couldn't find a tactful way of phrasing. Two words pulsated in his head- _Hang up. Just hang up…_

"Oh," Basil murmured, sympathy coating his voice. "Oh, what a shame." He turned partially away from Harry, drumming his fingers against the receiver. "Well, you can't rush things like this. If he wants to come back to you someday, he will. My advice is to wait patiently. Take your time."

Harry's fingers curled into his palm, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Even after their dinner conversation, Basil was _still_ oblivious. He wished he could turn away in disgust, but his heart beat loudly in his chest, forcing him to stay in place in case Basil made a mistake.

Then, through the constant rhythm of blood in his ears, Harry heard Basil say, "Have _I_ seen him?" The statement was incredulous, as if Basil could hardly reconcile the notion.

"What are you on about? I haven't spoken to Harry since he was… oh, he must have been eight years old, at least!" Briefly Basil glanced over at Harry, a knowing glint in his eye. "My, my, Edward, you're getting desperate. I know you're anxious to find him, but let me assure you. Wherever that young troublemaker finds himself, it's almost certainly _not_ in any of my social circles."

Slowly the tension drained out of Harry. He managed to give a shaky nod to Basil, who nonchalantly repeated the motion. He turned his back, leaving Harry to climb the stairs and return to the guest room.

How astonishing it was that his father had called Basil on the one day Harry was there. The coincidence was so strong that Harry could hardly wrap his head around it. But at the same time, he was more concerned with the way Basil had deflected his father's questions. His smooth voice filled Harry's head, repeating over and over like a looped tape. He had flat-out denied seeing Harry for years, even when Harry was standing right in front of him, in his own house.

 _Maybe he understands me better than I thought._


	13. Family

As soon as the two candidates and their sponsors had left on the shuttle, Noel stretched before easing himself from his seat. "Ian, since Damon and Harry are spending twenty-four hours away from HQ, I think it's best to release you as well. Tonight you're left to your own devices. Feel free to travel back to London, or perhaps explore the local area." He smiled, and Ian blinked.

"Will you be going back to London tonight?"

Noel shook his head. "I've got a few matters to attend to here. Tell you what-" He turned to his desk and opened a drawer, rummaging around before unearthing a dog's lead. "You take Delilah back to my home. HQ is not a stable environment for a young girl like her."

Ian glanced down to see Delilah gazing up at him, her mouth agape and her tail wagging furiously. "She appears to be thriving."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Noel said. He handed the lead to Ian. "Go on, enjoy yourself. Just be ready to meet me at the shop tomorrow at 11. There's another tour you have yet to embark on."

Ian leaned over to clip the lead onto Delilah's collar, contemplating the possibilities of a night to himself. London rose before him in his mind's eye, glistening light from every window, alluring voices and faces that beckoned him through doorways. After all, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life… But Ian's thoughts stopped short upon picturing the various people he'd undoubtedly run into. _Being a loner is only socially acceptable when no one's around to see it._ To Noel's home it was, then.

Although… _What are the clubs like out here?_ London was bound to offer more options than the local in Croydon. Better drinks, better company… and better men. But alongside the speculation came memories of Connor, his not-quite-boyfriend, and guilt washed over Ian for having considered it. _Connor. I should call him tonight…_

Then Ian remembered. _My parents._ For five months, he'd been too busy with testing, training, and observing to find any time for a call home. The prospect of doing so now was far from enticing. The longer he waited, the harder it became to explain himself. But they deserved to hear from him, and Ian had to admit he missed them.

"All right, Merlin." Ian tugged at the lead, and Delilah obediently rose, tail wagging. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Have a good night!" Noel called as Ian stepped into the shuttle. He sighed, helping Delilah scramble into the seat beside him before the shuttle shot off. _I hope I will..._

* * *

A parked car was waiting for Ian when he strolled out of the shop. The door popped open as he approached, greatly easing his mind on the matter of how he was supposed to bring a dog onto the tube. Delilah was overjoyed with the change of scenery; she put her paws up on the car window and drank in the sights, her tongue lolling out. Ian found himself mindlessly petting her as he watched his surroundings grow more and more familiar, until they were let off at Eaton Terrace.

In the dark, shrouded depths of Noel's home, all that greeted Ian were the echoes of his footsteps. It reminded him of his family's old cellar, where mysterious items were stored and promptly forgotten about. He flipped on the lights, bringing unearthly illumination to the long-untouched room. As soon as Ian unclipped Delilah's lead, she raced around the main room, her toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. Ian sighed, hanging up the lead and his jacket on the rack next to the door. _What were you thinking, Noel?_ HQ might not have been the ideal place to keep a dog, but as Noel rarely returned to the mews, keeping her here proved pointless.

At last Delilah settled down, jumping onto the couch and curling into a ball. Making a mental note to vacuum her hair off the couch later, Ian slipped into the kitchen, intent on making a cup of tea. He located the kettle quickly, filled it with water, plugged it in, and set it to boil. Then he turned to the nearby telephone. Pulling the receiver off the hook, Ian's fingers hovered briefly over the keys. _Who to speak to first?_ The temptation to call Connor was overwhelming, but Ian forced himself to dial his home phone's number. Putting off the conversation would only make it worse.

"Hello?" The soft, young voice on the other end of the line was so unlike what Ian had expected that it took him a moment to respond.

"Elizabeth? It's me."

"Ian!" He could almost picture his sister's eyes widening. "Where in the world have _you_ been?"

"I've been in London," Ian answered. _And Hertfordshire…_ But it was probably best not to give too many details. He sat down in the chair next to the phone. "Working with Uncle Noel. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm grand," Elizabeth replied flippantly, though her airy voice failed to disguise her delight. "What's the occasion? Should I get Mum and Dad? They're upstairs watching TV."

Ian swallowed, already hearing his father's incensed words. "Not yet. How are you doing now that school's back in session?"

"Not as well now that you're not around to help me out," Elizabeth teased. "But it's fine! I'm doing fine. I got an 85 on an English paper this week."

"Fantastic," Ian murmured, a soft smile lighting his face. Last he'd heard, English had been one of Elizabeth's worst subjects.

She laughed. "If you say so. Anyway, I want to hear about _you._ What's Noel got you doing in London?"

Ian hesitated. He wasn't sure exactly how much information Noel had given his family when he contacted them, but knowing Noel, and knowing Kingsman, he'd likely said very little.

"Sorry, can't tell you. That's classified information."

Elizabeth groaned at Ian's joking tone. "Ah, come on, you sound just like him. What's the big secret over a little job?"

Before Ian could concoct a lie, he heard a deep voice roll through the phone line. "Lizzie? Who are you talking to?"

"Ian!" Elizabeth announced, and before Ian knew it he heard his sister pass the receiver into his father's hand. He stared up at the ceiling, swallowing. _Shit…_

"Hello, Dad," he said. Silence met his ears.

"Ian, what are you doing in London?"

Ian bit back a sigh and got to his feet. "I was just telling Lizzie that's classified information." He went to the cabinets and opened them, waiting patiently for a reaction.

This time the silence lasted longer, but at last Ian's father said, "You know that's not true. Do you want me to tell you what you're _really_ doing?"

"As if you know my actions better than I know them?" Ian said, trying for a cool dismissal.

"You're trying to get out of working for me," his father proclaimed in a soft hiss. "Isn't that right?"

Ian waited, peering into the cabinet in search of a mug, before replying in as even a tone as he could manage. "Uncle Noel's opportunity happened to suit my… my needs better. I'm sorry that I left so suddenly, but…" He couldn't seem to find a delicate way to word his statement. _But I'm actually not all that sorry?_

"Oh, you think you're some kind of hotshot now?" Ian's father sneered. "Moving to London to take up some mysterious business offer? Without even telling me or your mother about it?"

Ian reached into the cabinet and took down a mug, trying not to let his father's words raise his temper. But it was difficult to ignore him when faced with such scorn.

"Honestly, I didn't feel obligated to tell you," he said, unable to leave out a note of testiness. "I'm twenty years old. I'm allowed to make my own decisions."

"You'll be twenty in _October,_ Ian."

"That's beside the point," Ian retorted. "I don't see why-"

"What about your studies?" his father interrupted. "Your university sent us a letter at the beginning of the semester asking why you weren't attending classes. Imagine trying to explain to them! We were just as lost as they were."

Ian froze, images of his previous life flashing through his head. _University of Glasgow..._ He'd registered for classes at the end of the previous term, never guessing that in just a month he would be bound for an all-new career path… Never guessing that what he'd learn over the course of the summer would obliterate any other opportunities for study.

Before he could formulate a reply, his mother's voice came on, muffled in the background. "What's going on?"

"Ian called," his father said stonily, and with that he handed the receiver over. Ian slowly passed his hand along his face, unsure how to anticipate the coming discussion. His mother had always been more sympathetic towards him, but she harbored little love for her brother Noel.

"Ian," his mother said, her voice all smiles and sunshine, like a warm blanket around Ian's shoulders. "How _are_ you, my sweet? We haven't heard from you in ages."

"I'm fine." Ian ran a hand through his hair. "How are _you,_ Mum?"

"Wonderful," she said, laughing to herself. "I was half-asleep in front of the telly when the phone rang. It's lovely to hear your voice again after- how long's it been?"

"Five months," Ian answered promptly. "It's good to hear from you too. I had a night off so I thought I'd call."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you did." She paused, and Ian could almost hear her consider his words. "You had a night off? Do you work most nights?"

"Yes, most of them," Ian said. "But I'm not here to discuss my-"

"Ah, so you wouldn't happen to know what Noel's up to?" Ian's mother said briskly, her tone cooling. "Haven't you two worked fairly closely?"

Ian suppressed a sigh. "We _have,_ but- but I'm not at liberty to reveal any details about his job." _If he hasn't let you know by now, he'll NEVER let you know._

"Oh, of course," Ian's mother said, a hard edge entering her voice. "Isn't that just typical of Noel? He has to play the secret agent all the time." The unintentional accuracy of her words almost forced a chuckle from Ian's lips. Sighing noisily, his mother continued. "Is he at least treating you well out there?"

"Yes, of course," Ian said. "You've no need to worry on my behalf." He found a tea infuser in the cabinet, right next to a jar of tea leaves, and began to fill it.

On the other end of the phone, Ian's mother grew contemplative. "Ian, I know it sounds silly but I _do_ worry. I'm your mother." She laughed, but there were wistful undertones in her voice.

"When will you be coming back to us?"

Ian paused, steadying himself before letting the news slip out. "Actually I won't be coming back at all, if- if things go as planned. I've got to move here in order to keep my job."

There was a lengthy pause, so long that Ian started to think his mother had hung up on him. But then he heard her mutter, "Oh, _dear."_

"What's wrong?"

She answered evasively, with a tinge of unhappiness in her voice. "Your father's gone back up to bed- I think I should join him. It's late." Another pause, and then- "Are you truly happy in London, Ian?"

Ian closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. _Am I?_ His mind filled with images from the last several months. Watching agents battle onscreen. Holding and using weaponry. Falling to earth from the mouth of a plane, terrified but trusting that he wasn't going to crash. Proving that he was worthy of taking on his uncle's job.

"Yes," he said simply. _Maybe not in London… but I'm happy with Kingsman_

"All right then…" his mother said, resigned. "Well, I do hope you call again. I love you."

"Love you too, Mum." She hung up just as the kettle began to boil. In his haste to pour the water, Ian let the receiver fall. It clattered to the floor with a crash loud enough to disturb Delilah, who came scampering in to inspect the scene. After finishing with the tea, Ian placed the phone back in its cradle and stared dourly down at the dog.

"That was no good."

 _But what were you EXPECTING?,_ his mind screamed. _You knew you weren't getting a welcome reception._

Sighing, Ian deposited himself into the chair by the phone, swirling the infuser about in his mug. Delilah sat and stared up at him with deep, innocent eyes, as if waiting for him to give her a treat.

"Tea's not for you," Ian mumbled, taking a sip. The heat seared his tongue pleasantly. He waited a while before setting the mug down and picking up the phone again. _Time to see what Connor's up to_.

The deep, cigarette-roughened voice on the other end called forth visions of a wary, muscular bartender. "Hello?"

"Hey," Ian replied tonelessly. "Is Connor Whitham available?"

He was immediately met with suspicion. "Connor's not working tonight."

"Are you sure?" Ian stood up to check the calendar on the wall above him, and cursed internally when he realized it was set five months back. "Isn't it a Wednesday night?"

"That's right." The bartender's suspicion increased by degrees. "And he's not here."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Unless you've fired Connor from a job that he's held for a year and a half now, I don't believe you. Could you please get him?" He refused to let himself think that maybe Connor wasn't coming to the phone on purpose.

The bartender sighed, giving up surprisingly easily. _Maybe he remembers my voice._ "Yeah, hang on." He covered the receiver with his hand, muffling the surging background music.

After a long moment, Connor's low, whispered voice rumbled through Ian's ears. "What are you doing, calling me here?"

Slowly Ian shut his eyes, letting Connor's unmistakable timbre envelope him, enclose him in a mental embrace. "I haven't spoken to you in months. Thought you must be missing me by now."

"You shouldn't have called the pub," Connor insisted, not warming to Ian's sweet mockery.

Ian opened his eyes. "You never gave me any other number. And it just so happens that the night I'm off is one where you're working. Excuse me for wanting to talk with you."

Connor gave a desperate sigh. "Are you free to come over?"

"No," Ian replied. "I'm in London. I wanted to know if you were able to talk for a bit."

"If you must know, I'm _not,"_ Connor said, sounding as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. "I'm actually in the middle of something right now."

On any other night, "in the middle of something" would have simply translated to Ian as "work." But coupled with Connor's hostile greeting, the words put him on alert. He stared up at the wall without really seeing it, his head filling with visions of the bar and of the torrid nights that he had spent there.

"What _sort_ of 'something?'" he questioned.

Connor paused, and then, like the bartender, relented with surprising ease. "I didn't want you to find out like this, but- well, it's none of your business now. It's been fun, Ian, but that's all it was."

Part of Ian wanted to fight, to protest, but the futility of the situation overcame him _. Of course he moved on… I was gone for so long… and he never cared enough to begin with…_

"Yeah," he muttered. "You're right, it's been _fun."_

"Sorry," Connor murmured, and Ian heard the _click_ of the receiver. He set his phone down too, balling his hands together and resting his chin on them. An empty feeling crept into him, lurid scenes and sensations tearing through his memory. The chafe of the restraints bound around his wrists, the dark, still quiet of the room, the smoothness of the blindfold and the heat of Connor's kisses, pressed in a row down the back of his neck…

 _More than fun._ It had been an _experience,_ and Ian missed every second of it.

He sighed and turned his attention to the still-steaming cup of tea sitting beside the phone. Delilah barked, having waited too long for attention, and Ian rose to his feet, taking the tea with him. "C'mon. Let's go." He led the way back to the living room, trying to convince himself that he didn't care about the rejection, that Connor had never been committed to begin with and it was mostly his fault for waiting so long to contact him, anyway. Only the TV was able to drown out these thoughts.


	14. Home

The tantalizing scent of sausage wafting through the air greeted Harry upon waking. He shot up and sat blinking at his surroundings. Gone were the gray, barren walls, the neat rows of beds facing him from the other side of the room. Instead, framed paintings lined the shadowy walls, and directly across from Harry sat a set of drawers and mirror.

Slowly, remembrance of his whereabouts trickled into Harry's head, accompanied by an intense feeling of déjà vu. After so many years, Harry had returned to Basil Winthrop's home- a place he'd last visited as a young child. He had been too exhausted upon arriving the previous night to really take notice. Curiosity rose within him, and he threw back the sheets and rolled out of bed. How much did the rest of the house compare to his memories?

The scent that had woken Harry alerted him to the presence of another person in the house, but as he trod quietly down the stairs, he began to sense that this person wasn't Basil. Keeping his ears attuned to the kitchen, he picked up on the sounds of a light step and faint, feminine humming. Taking care not to disturb his unexpected company, Harry slipped silently towards the kitchen and waited, peering subtly into the room. He was rewarded with a few glimpses of a woman, approaching middle age, busying herself with frying eggs. Beside her, a fresh batch of sausages sizzled away in a pan. Harry stepped back and retreated to the sitting room, electing not to introduce himself. For a moment he pondered the woman's presence, but quickly the contents of the sitting room diverted his attention.

Aside from the comfortable sofa and the fireplace, Basil's sitting room was occupied by countless glass cases, each one housing various collections. Carefully Harry peered into each one, memories surging through his head at the sight. A case of small glass figurines brought forth the recollection of his mother strictly instructing him and his sisters not to touch anything, because these weren't toys to play with. A shelf of sea glass and sand dollars in pristine condition reminded Harry of how he'd once dared to bother Basil and ask what the sea glass was, and where he had found it. A collection of small silver spoons brought a wry grin to Harry's face, as he reminisced on how Basil had actually taken the spoons out and patiently went through explaining where he'd purchased each one.

Then Harry's eyes drifted upwards, and his grin grew bigger, a touch of amazement filling him. On the wall just above the sofa was one of Basil's most impressive collections- butterflies, each pinned to a board with an inscription beneath them, bearing their scientific names.

 _Vanessa kershawi. Polyommatus bellargus. Danaus plexippus… papilio glaucus…_ Harry's eyes danced along the inscriptions as he admired them. Outside of museums, this was largest collection of butterfly specimens he had ever seen in one place. It was also the aspect of Basil's home that had entranced him the most as a child.

"Good morning, Harry!" Basil's voice rang out. Harry turned to take in the sight of Basil, clothed in a handsome smoking jacket. Already his hair was combed perfectly into place, though he appeared to have come fresh out of bed.

"How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," Harry responded. "And you?"

Basil chuckled as he came to stand next to Harry. "I slept as if I was the one who was drugged last night, instead of you." He folded his arms across his chest and stared proudly up at his collection adorning the wall. "What do you think of my butterflies? Took me a lot of sitting through tedious auctions to build this display. I never broke out the net much myself, except on rare occasions."

"I'm impressed," Harry said, turning towards Basil. "I honestly believed I'd never meet another collector of this sort."

Basil grinned knowingly and reached out to pat Harry's shoulder. "I aim to please. How many have you got?"

"Not nearly as many as yours," Harry said, his eyes straying once again to the wall. "But you should have seen my flat when I was at Oxford. One of my housemates, Roger, absolutely refused to come in my room after I'd set up my collection."

Basil laughed, clasping his hands in front of him and shaking his head. "I suppose it's not a very popular hobby. But if you ask me, it's fascinating to see a dead creature so well-preserved." Swiftly he turned and padded back towards the kitchen. "Your housemate should be grateful that you haven't taken up taxidermy. Now… unless my nose deceives me, I believe Rosalie has whipped us up a fine breakfast. Let's go enjoy it."

"With pleasure," Harry said. He turned his back on the butterflies and caught up with Basil. "If I might ask, of what relation is Rosalie to you?"

"None whatsoever," Basil answered. "Besides the fact that I pay her once a week. She's an excellent cook, much better than I could ever hope to be."

In no time, Harry and Basil were seated across from each other at Basil's kitchen table, digging into their individual dishes. Rosalie's cooking ran the full breakfast gamut of eggs, sausage, bacon, grilled tomatoes, toast, and baked beans. She had said nothing as she served them, and hardly batted an eye at Harry's presence. She stayed just long enough to receive Basil's words of praise, before bustling out the door.

"Your service is, as always, appreciated!" Basil called to her retreating back.

Peace settled across the room, and with each bite of food Harry grew progressively content. Staring out the nearby window, he caught a glimpse of the sky above- a sunny day.

"What have you got on the agenda today, Basil?" he questioned. "I doubt you'd want to spend a lovely day inside." After the fast-paced, rigorous schedule of Kingsman training, Harry found it hard to believe that Basil would choose to loaf around the house the rest of the day.

Basil swallowed and wiped his mouth before answering. "Today we're taking a trip to the shop to get you acquainted with the… items that I mentioned to you last night. We'll eat lunch at a place of your choosing. I've also got a surprise for you."

 _A surprise…_ Harry raised his eyebrows. "Care to fill me in on the nature of this surprise?"

Basil held up his hand. "Patience, my boy! All will be revealed in time."

Harry cracked a smile and returned to eating. His mind began to muse on what it was that Basil had to show him. What could be more interesting than the "items" in the tailor shop? Did Basil have a gift for him?

Absorbed in these thoughts, he almost didn't hear Basil call his name, but when he slowly raised his head he found Basil staring intensely at him. A smidgen of discomfort entered him. In Basil's eyes, Harry saw the same twin flames that he had witnessed at dinner the night before. He looked as if a match had been struck inside of him.

"Allow me to ask you one question," Basil said softly. "How badly do you want to join Kingsman?"

The question stopped Harry in his tracks. _How badly do I want this?_ Was it _fair_ to ask that? Harry's knee-jerk reaction was to say that wanting was entirely beside the point. Whether or not his skills merited the attention was the real deciding factor.

But the longer Harry considered it, the more he realized it was _okay_ to express desire. Basil had proven last night that he wasn't going to run off and report what Harry had said the instant they parted. Harry folded his hands together and gave a straightforward answer. "Basil, working at Kingsman is an opportunity I never dreamed of being offered, and I'm not going to pass it up."

For a moment, Basil seemed stricken with the gravity of Harry's response, but in a flash the expression was gone.

"I hope you'll forgive me for asking another question," he said, swiftly moving on.

"Of course," Harry replied. "I don't mind."

Basil cleared his throat. "If I may be frank… how far would you go to ensure your position at the table? To prove that you belong with us more than anyone else?"

Harry hesitated, feeling that Basil had just set him adrift in uncharted waters. The way he spoke implied that some drastic measure would _have_ to be taken in order to fill a position at Kingsman. Or was he just curious as to his candidate's intentions?

To be on the safe side, he murmured, "I'm sorry, I don't think we should be-"

"Harry." A chiding note entered Basil's voice. "Don't try to evade me. Answer the question."

Harry took a deep breath and searched the ceiling for answers, reflecting on his experience with Kingsman thus far. He dwelled on the long hours he had put in during training, how hard he'd worked just to achieve and maintain his status at the top of the class. He thought of the daydreams he'd had of working alongside Basil, of the thrill that the airplane hangar had sent through him, of Basil's unshakeable faith in him and of the interrogation on the train tracks. Finally he thought of his family, and how Basil had ensured Harry's separation from them the night before.

Yes. Yes, that was it. A smile touched Harry's face as he looked back at Basil.

"If I may be _frank_ , Basil… I would go as far as I needed to."

Basil smiled back, his crooked grin and wild eyes giving the impression of a madman. "That, my boy, is a good answer." He stood up and gazed towards the window, before lifting his plate and going to the sink.

"Obviously I'm not at liberty to reveal the nature of your final test. But I do want you to be aware of who's administering it." Basil placed his plate in the sink, and Harry's brow creased. "You mean to say Merlin won't be overseeing us?"

Basil shook his head, returning his gaze to Harry. "All I can say is that he won't see _you._ On the day of your final test, you're going to meet a very fine Kingsman agent, the head of our organization. Our Arthur."

 _ARTHUR._ The name sent a _ping_ through Harry's brain. He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. _I should have guessed…_ With a trainer called Merlin, a sponsor called Percival, and the title of Galahad waiting for him to claim, of course there _had_ to be an Arthur around somewhere.

"Arthur might look useless on the outside, Harry," Basil said, his tone urging Harry to listen. "He might appear to just sit around all day, filing paperwork and calling meetings. But you know what one says about assumptions." The hint of a smile curved around his lips, his eyes glazing over with fond memories. "Arthur is our _leader_ , Harry. He is the man to whom we all look up, or _should_ look up. And when he gives us an order…" Basil made a _tsk_ noise with his tongue, slowly shaking his head. "Don't even think of arguing. What's a knight who is disloyal to his king?"

"Not a very _good_ knight, I'd assume," Harry muttered. Basil snapped his fingers. "Ex _act_ ly, Harry. I want you to remember that when you go into your final test. A man like Arthur deserves your utmost respect."

Harry nodded agreeably, though he was unsure why Basil was insisting so heavily upon the point. _Everyone_ at Kingsman deserved his respect.

He finished his breakfast and handed the plate over to Basil, who deposited it in the sink. Smiling broadly at Harry, he addressed a question to him. "Would you like to know what today's surprise is?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Very much."

"Let's get dressed, then," Basil said. He departed the room, and Harry followed. "We're going to be doing some walking. It's not terribly close by, but exercise is good for the soul."

After throwing on his party outfit from the previous night and checking himself in a mirror, Harry and Basil left the mews side by side. Basil leaned on his walking stick every step of the way, but his eyes twinkled jovially, as if he couldn't wait to get to their destination. The longer they walked, the greater Harry's curiosity grew. He catalogued his surroundings at every turn.

Presently Basil led Harry up to another mews home. To Harry's surprise, instead of knocking on the door, Basil pulled out his keyring and unlocked it.

"I never knew you had a second home," Harry remarked as he stepped through the door. But the house's bare interiors left him confused.

"I don't," Basil replied calmly. "This is Galahad's home, Harry. It was here our missing knight resided up until his untimely death."

Harry turned to Basil, questions forming on his tongue, but Basil shook his head to silence him. "Go take a look around. All of the old Galahad's belongings have been moved out. This home is empty, waiting for a new occupant to come and liven it up." His voice dropped to a hushed tone. "It's waiting for a new knight. It's waiting for _you."_

Harry stared about the main room, torn. Half of him wanting to ascend the stairs, to peek into each room, to fill up the empty space with the sound of his voice. But the other half of him hesitated, because even though no one was currently residing in the house, Basil's tone of voice was a little too presumptuous for him to stand anymore.

"Basil," Harry said softly. "I regret to inform you, but I haven't… taken the final test. The results have not yet been determined. I don't think I should be here."

"Oh, but you _belong_ here," Basil said. He laid his hand on Harry's shoulder, startling him a bit. "If you truly want to leave now, I'll respect your wish. But Harry, you must understand. Living in this house is a great honor. It's the same as sitting at the meeting table in the tailor shop. Galahad sits to Arthur's left, and I sit to his right."

"A round table?" Harry murmured.

Basil shook his head, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder. "No. But a very important seat nonetheless. Harry, I brought you here because I want you to know what you're getting into. All of this will be yours, if you pass the test."

Harry considered those words, letting the stillness of the house charge the air. Basil should know better than to assume that material belongings could tempt Harry. But from the way Basil spoke about tradition… It dawned on Harry just how important it was to Basil for Harry to earn his position at Kingsman. Not just because he believed Harry deserved to work there, or that he saw him as Kingsman material, but because he saw him as _Galahad._ In Harry, Basil saw someone worthy of carrying on a tradition that had lasted for years. The importance of his position had never been made so clear.

And furthermore, after last night's dinner Basil had to know how much the idea of a home meant to Harry. "All of this could be yours" was less of an incentive to join Kingsman, and more a sense of protection. Here Harry could make a home for himself, and never have to worry about uninvited guests. To put it simply, Basil had gone out of his way to show Harry how Kingsman could become his home, solely because he knew Harry needed one.

Harry drew breath and spoke slowly. "I understand, Basil. I appreciate your bringing me here." He wished he could say more, to put into words how grateful he was for the genuine interest and care Basil expressed. But these thoughts remained unvoiced, out of concern for their sentimentality.

"It's no trouble at all," Basil said, returning to his cheerfully calm demeanor in the blink of an eye. "Are you interested in looking around?"

"Not particularly," Harry answered. Somehow he could still sense spirits in the air. "But I suppose… I'll have plenty of time to do so later?"

He looked over at Basil, who caught on immediately. A radiant smile spilled across his face.

"Of course you will. Now, the tailor shop on the other hand, is not always open for business." He backed away towards the door, motioning for Harry to follow. "Come along, my boy. This is only the beginning of your adventure."


	15. Armory

After a bowl of stale cereal and a quick walk around the neighborhood with Delilah, Ian returned to Kingsman's shop at 11:00 the next day as per Noel's instruction. The moment Ian walked in, Noel broke off his conversation he was having with an employee and came forward to meet him, a relaxed smile on his face. "Good morning, Ian. How was your night off?"

Rather than detail how mediocre it had been, Ian simply shrugged. "Could have been worse. What are we up to here?"

"Getting right to the point, I see. Come along. We're going to Fitting Room Three." Noel gestured to one of the doors on the left, and Ian gazed over, intrigued. All he'd seen of the Kingsman fitting rooms was the elevator in One that led to the underground shuttle. _Let's see if Three is just as extraordinary._

Fitting Room Three quickly proved itself worthy when Noel turned a coat hook sideways, causing a section of the wall to swing inward. Without hesitation, Ian followed his uncle into the secret room, and immediately found himself facing row upon row of neatly-organized items. He wandered through the room, examining each rack closely. Amongst the innocuous gentlemans' accessories were firearms, similar to the ones Ian had handled during training.

Slowly Ian pieced together the items' purposes, each one corresponding to a different mission he'd observed. Pellinore had knocked out his target and witness with darts from a watch just like these. Lancelot had used a pen of the same design to poison an Argentinian spy. And no mission went by without an agent making excellent use of his walking stick and its deadly functions.

"I've only shown you one piece of our arsenal," Noel remarked. "The glasses. I know you've seen others in use, but it's time you learn how they really work." He lifted a signet ring from the shelf and studied it briefly before tossing it to Ian, who caught it reflexively.

"This is an unassuming device," he said, inspecting it.

"Ah, you'd _think_ that," said Noel. Easily he slipped on another ring. "But its true function will shock you." Holding his hand up sideways, he pressed the contact in the back. With a soft _zing_ , the ring sparked with electricity. Ian groaned. "What do you think you are, a regular comedian?"

"A life lived without laughter is no life to me." Noel removed the signet and placed it back on the rack, then guided Ian towards a shelf of shoes. "Why don't you try on a pair of oxfords?"

Ian gave Noel a questioning glance, eyebrows raised. "I don't have to get a suit too, do I?'

"Not unless you want to," Noel said. "A Kingsman suit is all for appearance's sake, and no one looks twice at those who work behind the scenes. I recommend you try the shoes in order to display a certain function." He cleared his throat. "I'd show you but- as you know, I've got one foot in the grave. So to speak."

Ian went still, the image of Noel's prosthetic surfacing in his brain. He couldn't find it in him to laugh at Noel's joke. Shaking off the memory, he reached for a pair of oxfords and sat down. "Can't wait to see what it does."

"You'll enjoy it," Noel assured him. "While you're putting them on, I'll show you the most useful feature." He took a shoe from the rack and twisted the heel, causing a mobile antenna to extend out of it and circular indents in the sole to retract, revealing both speaker and microphone holes.

 _"_ _Amazing,"_ Ian breathed. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, it's almost as convenient as it is silly-looking," said Noel. He replaced the shoe and regarded Ian as the latter tied his pair of oxfords and stood up. "Now, for the far deadlier function, click your heels together three times."

Shooting Noel a withering look, Ian did as instructed. He stared down at his shoes, but nothing happened.

"Try _harder,_ Dorothy," Noel said dryly. Barely refraining from rolling his eyes, Ian forcefully tapped his heels together. A blade shot out of his left shoe, startling him.

"They truly are the sharpest pair," Noel said. This time Ian couldn't find it in him to groan. "And by far the most lethal weapon in the Kingsman arsenal. With one n- _no,_ no, _don't touch it_."

Hastily Ian straightened up. His fingers had been inches away from the blade's steel. "Why? Is the blade poisoned?"

 _"_ _Yes,"_ Noel replied at once. "Excuse me for raising my voice, but as I was saying, one nick and the poison will rapidly enter your bloodstream. You'd be dead in seconds- and then what would your parents say? Not to mention I rather like having you around."

"Stop flattering me," Ian said, refusing to repress the eye roll. "You're not just _saying_ that, are you?"

"Of course not," Noel said, fondly patting Ian's shoulder. "I wouldn't lie to my favorite nephew."

"I'm your _only_ nephew," Ian said, but his lips twitched in humor. Noel smiled faintly back as he went to the collection of fountain pens. "Now, _this_ is a devastating little number…"

Slowly they worked their way around the room, Noel handing over items for Ian to try, and Ian committing every one of their purposes to memory. After each demonstration, Noel gave a brief explanation of what type of situation a Kingsman agent would use the item, and when was the right mission to assign it. Soon Ian's mind was spinning with the knowledge of various poisons, amnesia inducers, and gun designs. At last the tour drew to a close, leaving one last item to be covered.

"Most Kingsmen wear tortoiseshell glasses," Noel said, picking up a pair from the rack. "It's a standard design, and it fits their preconceived image. However, the option for alternate frames is available, within reason." He tapped knowingly at the side of his own glasses. "These were the first working prototype. Easier to modify my existing model than to start from scratch."

Ian nodded, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Catching the movement, Noel's vivid eyes grew soft.

"Speaking of which, I believe this gift is well overdue," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a small black case, and a thrilled shiver went through Ian as he recognized it.

"For Kingsman staff who already wear glasses, a duplication is sometimes in order," Noel said. He handed the case over to Ian, but just as Ian started to open it, a voice rang out.

"Good day, Merlin!"

Noel whipped his head around, and Ian peered over his shoulder, having already figured out who the voice belonged to. Percival was entering the room, his candidate Harry Hart trailing behind him. While Harry's eyes darted from rack to rack, Percival sauntered straight up to Noel with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

"Fancy seeing _you_ here." Percival clasped his hands together on his walking stick and leaned against it. "I assume you've come to show your intern the ropes?" He gave no indication that said intern was in the room.

"Didn't Andrew mention that this fitting room is occupied?" Noel said feebly.

Percival huffed a quick laugh through his nose. "Yes, but he can't keep _me_ waiting. I couldn't let Harry go without seeing our arsenal one more time, not after the way I've talked it up!" He cast an admiring smile towards Harry, and Harry returned it with sparkling eyes. Ian stared down at the case in his hands, hoping that the two of them would leave quickly.

"Of course, he'd let _you_ in," Noel muttered under his breath. He raised his voice to address Percival. "Luckily for you, Ian and I are just about finished here."

"Thank you," Percival said, dipping his head courteously. "I assure you we'll be on our way in no time."

"I don't doubt you will," Noel said. Moving closer, he placed a hand on Percival's shoulder. "But first, will you talk with me for a minute?"

Percival backed away from Noel's touch, his smile fading. But the words that came out of his mouth were, "Certainly, Merlin." He allowed Noel to draw him back towards the fitting room, out of sight and just barely out of earshot.

Inevitably, Ian wondered what Noel wanted to speak to Percival about. Turning the glasses case around in his hands, he inched closer to the entrance… but Harry spoke up, shattering his concentration.

"What have you got there?" Ian looked up to see Harry gesturing to the case, his face glowing with a charming smile.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Ian muttered, not in the mood for conversation. Not with Harry Hart, anyway. He strained his ears, trying to pick up the sound of voices from the other room, but Harry stopped him once again.

"If you don't mind my asking, how did you earn your internship at Kingsman? It hardly strikes me as the sort of organization that readily hands them out."

 _Great. Small talk._ Ian shook his head, not meeting Harry's eyes. "It's not, and I _do_ mind." His voice came out a bit harsher than intended, but it did the trick. Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Harry move away from him. "In that case, my apologies."

Grasping the glasses case, Ian closed his eyes, trying to tune in on the conversation outside. But all he could hear was soft, heated murmuring. Eventually Percival raised his voice, but Ian could still only make out a couple of words. "No, I don't see why… _you're_ the one who's got…"

It wasn't long before Percival stormed back in, his face scrunched in a sour mask. "Harry, I deeply apologize. We shouldn't be here at this time. Come with me." He waited for Harry to slide into place beside him before exiting. They passed Noel on the way out, but he didn't glance at either of them. Weariness filled his eyes, his patience at last wearing thin.

"Sorry for the interruption, Ian." Noel came back into the room, walking slowly.

Ian frowned. "You didn't need to turn them away."

"Our privacy was not the issue," Noel said quietly. Before Ian could ask for any details of his conversation, he indicated the case in Ian's hands. "Open it up. It's for you."

His excitement rekindled, Ian lifted the lid. The pair of glasses inside were identical to the ones he was currently wearing, minus the slightly-smudged lenses. He swapped out his old pair for the new. Instantly the armory came to life around Ian, tiny details dancing their way into clarity. Noel broke out into a grin.

Ian reached up and felt along the side of the frame, locating a very familiar button. Pressing it brought Noel's joyful face into closer detail.

"They're perfect." A smile appeared on Ian's face too. "Thank you, Merlin."

As soon as the codename slipped out of Ian's mouth, Noel's smile dimmed. An instant wash of embarrassment came over Ian. They were still on Kingsman property, and he'd spent so many months sticking close to protocol… He hadn't even considered using his uncle's given name.

"You're very welcome," Noel said. He closed the distance between them and double-tapped the zoom button on Ian's glasses, returning his vision to normal.

"You're going to want to learn how to use them properly. I'd be happy to show you if there's nothing on your schedule."

Ian didn't need to think twice before accepting. "No, I've had my fill of London."

"Fantastic," Noel said. "I suspect we'll have to pick up a certain dog before we leave, though."

"Of course," Ian said, remembering how he had left Delilah all alone that morning. "She misses you."

Noel raised his eyebrows, already making for the door. "Then we'd best not hang around."


	16. The Final Test

"Harry Hart. Damon Lassiter. Once you're done with your meals, both of you are wanted for a private meeting with your superiors."

Damon stared at Ian mid-chew before hastily gulping down the bite of oatmeal in his mouth. "Our superiors?"

"Merlin wants to speak to you," Ian replied tonelessly. "And Arthur wants to meet you, Harry."

 _Arthur._ The name electrified Harry's brain. Could this be it? The final test that Basil had spoken of?

"I'll take you to the meeting rooms," Ian concluded. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorframe, quietly watching. Harry met Damon's eyes across the table, both sensing the finality of the moment. Once they parted ways, one of them would never set foot in Kingsman headquarters again.

 _May the best man win, indeed…_

No sooner had Damon and Harry returned their dirty dishes that Ian whisked them away, leading them down the corridor to an elevator. When Hesse squeezed in behind Damon, Harry lifted Mr. Pickle into his arms and followed. At the first stop, Ian urged everyone out.

"Arthur's waiting for you in the library." Ian indicated the room at the end of the hallway. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Harry said, setting Mr. Pickle down on the floor. He steadied himself and watched as Ian led Damon off into an adjacent room, before making for the end of the hall. The dark wood doors were closed, so Harry knocked.

"Come in," called a polished, refined voice. Harry opened the door and walked in, Mr. Pickle following closely at his heels. A single glance rewarded him with a wide expanse of books, from wall to wall. But Harry paid little attention to anything besides the man seated before him. His hair was pale and thin, his face lined with age, and he wore an elegant suit and glasses. On the table next to him sat a half-empty decanter, a full glass, and a pistol.

 _Arthur._

"Harry Hart," Arthur said. "I've heard so much about you. Please take a seat." He gestured to the chair across from him. Harry obeyed, calling for his dog to sit as well. "Heel, Mr. Pickle." Arthur eyed the dog fondly.

"Interesting name for the little chap."

"He's an interesting dog, sir," Harry replied. Under Arthur's piercing gaze, he expected nervousness to set in, but there was no hesitation. Curiosity ruled more than anything, a strong desire to see if Arthur was the sort of man to live up to Basil's praise.

Arthur chuckled hoarsely, reaching for his drink. "I've heard a lot about you from Agent Percival. He tells me you're at the top of the class."

Harry nodded. "So it seems."

"Well, allow me to offer my sincerest congratulations," Arthur said. He took a sip from his glass and continued. "Regardless of the outcome of your final test, it's been an honor having you here to work with Kingsman."

As Harry watched closely, Arthur set his drink down and then picked up the pistol. He weighed it ponderingly in his hands, and the smallest flicker of unease went through Harry. What if the test involved hurting-

 _No. No. Shut that thought out. You're not going to end up injured._

Arthur offered the gun to Harry, and he took it with the gentlest touch. Wildly his mind switched gears- _he's not going to ask me to shoot HIM, is he?_

 _No… he wouldn't dare…_

"This weapon is live," said Arthur gravely. "Shoot the dog."

* * *

A bright grin fell across Damon's face as Ian led him into the room where Noel was waiting. "Good morning, sir. What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," Noel said coolly. He waited for Ian to join him at his side before offering the pistol in his hand to Damon. Confusion swam through Damon's eyes, but he easily accepted it.

"Tell your dog to sit," Noel said. Damon did, and Hesse loyally followed his command. Noel cleared his throat.

"Damon Lassiter, you've been a fine candidate in our program. You should be proud of the work you've accomplished here, whether or not you become our next Galahad."

"Thank you, sir," Damon said, dipping his head. "From the bottom of my heart, I mean it. Thank you for everything."

Noel did not react to Damon's words. Instead his gaze shifted to Hesse, and inevitably Ian's gaze followed his.

"The weapon in your hand is live," Noel said. "Shoot the dog."

* * *

Arthur's command felt like a white-hot blade shoved into Harry's stomach. He kept his gaze trained on the pistol, unable to face either Arthur or Mr. Pickle, for fear of what he might find from them.

His first instinct was to resist. _I CAN'T shoot the dog. Merlin said the dog represented teamwork._ And lack of teamwork was the very thing that had led to disaster during the first test. Destroying a symbol of something so important was unthinkable.

Then reason kicked in, Basil's voice swimming through his brain- _"A man like Arthur deserves your utmost respect_." This was an order from _Arthur,_ of all people. Not a stranger or a man in disguise, but Arthur, Kingsman's leader, the man Basil praised to the end of the earth. He couldn't ignore an order so important and direct. The man had told Harry to shoot the dog, and shoot the dog he must. He _must_.

The only question left was whether he had it in him to follow through on that order- which _must_ be the test. Ignoring the order would be to ignore Kingsman, to turn his back on everything it stood for.

Harry lifted the gun and turned it onto Mr. Pickle. The act itself felt like a sort of betrayal, especially as he met Mr. Pickle's eager gaze. _For heaven's sake, he has no idea what's going on_. It was unfair to shoot such an innocent creature…

But then a new voice rang in Harry's head, one that belonged not to Basil, but to himself.

 _Kingsman is the best thing that's ever HAPPENED to me! OF COURSE IT'S WORTH DYING FOR!_

Immediately a spark of energy surged through Harry, and he gripped the gun more tightly, emboldened. _Yes!_ Hadn't he just told Basil of how he wasn't going back to his old home if he could help it? Hadn't Basil shown him everything that could be his if he succeeded, promised that Kingsman would always have a place for him? Hadn't Kingsman provided him with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one that he would never get back in a million years?

 _Yes._

Harry had been ready to lay down his own life for Kingsman. Sacrificing a dog meant _nothing_ in the long run.

Swallowing heavily, Harry aimed for Mr. Pickle's eager smile, set his finger on the trigger, and fired.

* * *

Horror spilled across Damon's face at Noel's demand. His eyes immediately darted to Hesse, then back to Noel, then to Hesse again. He opened his mouth, on the verge of protesting, before realization sunk in. Ian could see it in his open expression. _This is a test… This is THE test._

For a long moment Damon stood frozen, the gun all but forgotten in his hand. His eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip, trying to work up the nerve to pull the trigger. Then all at once a look of relief spread across his face. In an oddly calm manner, Damon held out the pistol, offering it back to Noel.

"No, sir." The words were said just as clearly as _I won't._ Ian looked to Noel to see if this was the test's proper conclusion, but Noel's face remained blank. He took the pistol back, turning it over in his hands.

Another pause followed. Ian wondered what was supposed to happen. _Is Noel waiting for a different reaction?_ _Does Damon get a second chance?_ Damon seemed to be wondering the same, because his gaze flickered back to the gun. Uncertainty scrawled across his face, questioning his decision.

Then, from the next room over, a shot rang out.

"Damon," Noel said at once, solemnly. "Head back to the barracks. Your work here is done."

Damon's brow furrowed, and he stared down at Hesse, frowning.

"I'm sorry, sir. Did I-"

"Go home, Damon," Noel intoned, emphasizing the point.

 _"_ _Ah,"_ Damon mouthed, finally realizing. Now that it was clear he was out of the program, an ironic cheer began to settle over him. _Or perhaps he's merely relieved he doesn't have to kill his dog._ Damon snapped his fingers, bringing said dog to attention. She hopped up on all fours, and Damon gave her a pat on the head.

"Merlin," he said. "You weren't joking when you said we could take the dogs home, were you?"

"Would I joke about such an important souvenir?" Noel countered.

Damon let out a short, strained laugh. "I suppose not. Thank you for everything, Merlin. I wish nothing but the best for you and Kingsman." With that, he turned on his heel and exited, Hesse following her master all the way.

Almost immediately after Damon had left, Ian rounded on Noel. "If I might ask, _what_ did I just see?"

"You saw the final test, of course," Noel said. He turned Ian around before raising the pistol. Aiming for the wall, he fired one shot.

The sound split the air, causing Ian to involuntarily clap his hands over his ears. But smoke was all that issued from the gun barrel.

Slowly it dawned on Ian, and he turned to Noel. "There were blanks in those guns."

Noel nodded. "Kingsman doesn't take lives unnecessarily, Ian. Not even the lives of dogs."

He set the weapon aside and faced Ian, laying a hand on his shoulder. Slightly bewildered, all Ian could do was stare at Noel, wordlessly begging him to explain.

"Teamwork is extremely important to our organization," Noel said. "You heard me say that on the second day of training. But sometimes, it's more important to know when to leave someone behind." For a split second pain flashed in his eyes, as if recalling a heavy memory, but the emotion was gone before Ian could register it.

"It's always a tough decision, Ian, and I can promise you it never gets easier. But you always have to understand the situation. Remember that sometimes, a Kingsman agent _can't_ save the world. We must _try_ to at all costs, but we're only human, and sometimes our best isn't enough."

Ian closed his eyes, accepting the answer. No wonder Damon had looked so agonized at Noel's order. Deciding who to save and who to leave behind was too much of a responsibility for a man as careless and fun-loving as he was. Damon had entered Kingsman looking for a way to enjoy himself, and no matter how much he had learned, that was all it would ever be to him. Harry Hart, however, apparently had the right mindset to take on the job, and so it was he who succeeded where Damon failed.

"Are you all right, Ian?" Noel's gentle voice reached his ears. Ian opened his eyes and nodded, and Noel withdrew his touch.

"Oh, I'm fine." Ian took a deep breath. "I just wanted to thank you for all you've taught me during this program. It's been an amazing experience. Thanks for everything, Noel."

Wordlessly, Noel leaned forward and gathered Ian into a hug. Pleasantly surprised, Ian hugged him back.

"You're very welcome," Noel said when he pulled away, breaking into a secretive smile. "But I'm not done with you yet."

* * *

Harry tried to force himself not to look away, but as soon as the shot went off he couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, not wanting to witness the aftermath. However, his eyes sprang back open when he heard a high-pitched whine, the sound of an animal in fear rather than one in the throes of death. Mr. Pickle, terrified by the shot, had sought refuge under the chair, trembling.

 _Alive._

"Mr. Pickle!" All potential questions, such as _why was the gun filled with blanks,_ flew out of Harry's mind, relief coloring his voice. Forgetting Arthur, he rose from the chair and dropped to the floor, reaching out to his dog. "Mr. Pickle, it's okay…" Tremors ran through the dog's body, but eventually he came close enough to give Harry's hand a lick. Harry scooped him up and got back on his feet- and that was when he noticed that Arthur had risen from his chair, looking tremendously pleased.

"Well done." Satisfaction dripped from every word. "Percival will be overjoyed to hear that you've passed the test."

 _Passed the test. Passed the test._ The words spun around and around in Harry's head. He fought to keep the joy from breaking out across his face.

"Percival can't be here to congratulate you personally," Arthur continued. "But he asked me to give you this gift should you succeed." He reached into his pocket and drew out a house key, with a ribbon threaded through its hole. Harry's heart surged, and he had to refrain from snatching it out of Arthur's hand.

"Thank you, Arthur," he breathed. Beaming, Arthur held out his hand.

"Welcome to Kingsman, Galahad."

* * *

 **AN: From the depths of my heart, thanks to everyone who read and commented on this fic! Your feedback means a lot. Thanks as well to my friend and editor RafaelaFranzen, who spent almost a year painstakingly helping me craft this story to perfection.**

 **The sequel to this story, The Path of a Kingsman, will be posted in the distant future. It features more action, more drama, and plenty of romance. For now, I hope everyone enjoys The Golden Circle and whatever fics may come from it!**


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